


Poseys for Starsky

by Dawnwind



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Bondage, M/M, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:37:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A different version of 'Murder Ward' with the slant of sexual bondage.If bondage as a consensual sexual practice bothers you, do not read this story, please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Poseys for Starsky

It had sounded like the kind of assignment a cop could really sink his teeth into, maybe cause some real change in the system. Except Hutch didn't really want to take on a long undercover, there was such an enormous possibility for danger--of being revealed as a cop, maybe even killed. Starsky had persisted, however, reminding his partner of the plight of the unfortunate patients confined to Cabrillo State Hospital. People were dying there, at a much faster rate than under normal circumstances. Someone was killing the innocent patients, and had to be stopped. Starsky and Hutch would be the ones to do it, not for the glory or the adrenaline rush of tracking down some murderer but for the safety of those destined to be in the killer's path.

Hutch had capitulated, as usual. He usually did. He always found it difficult to deny Starsky even the smallest thing, but this one was huge. Starsky was going to owe him big time, after this. And he wasn't at all happy that they had to be separated, since he was going undercover as a nurse and Starsky as a patient.

Dobey had thought up the roles and aliases for them, using the excuse that Hutch had a modicum of medical training and no one would question Starsky needing some psychiatric care. Starsky had bristled a bit at that comment but then vowed to be the best damned crazy person he knew how to be.

Hutch's dig that he was already so crazy it would be hard to tell if he was acting received a withering glance and an upraised middle finger.

So that's why he'd been stuck in the glorified hell hole for a week, Hutch sighed to himself, living the life of an underpaid, under appreciated psych nurse. As the most recently hired he was at the bottom of the totem pole; just a flunky who got ordered around and yelled at by those with more authority. And he missed Starsky with a longing that surprised him. It went beyond the need for the companionship of his buddy and partner into a deep and abiding desire to be near him and touch him. Dobey had ordered that even when Hutch left the hospital at night he should stay away from his best friend in case anyone accidentally saw the two of them together. So, it had been a long week, lonely and depressing. Dealing with the mentally ill was a demanding and scary job, not unlike police work. There were so many problems and not enough time so that the rabble-rousers ended up in restraints, on medication, and the undemanding patients were often ignored or forgotten because they weren't causing any trouble.

At least he wouldn't be alone any longer. Starsky was arriving momentarily. Hutch found himself hovering around the main hall all morning long, hoping to get a glimpse of his partner's arrival. When formidable Nurse Bycroft marched outside to meet the transport van, Hutch hurriedly rounded up his group of patients to engage them in a game of poker. That would steal him some time to bring Starsky up to speed when they could grab a few minutes together. He took a deep breath, rubbing the place over his nose where his aviator glasses pinched, glad to be able to take the annoying things off for a moment. Heading out to the main hall, Hutch gave a quick thought for a convincing reason to be found there, if asked.

Starsky burst through the double doors like a force of nature; Hurricane David, all wild curls and manic glee, barreling down the halls as if he had jet engines in both sneakers. Cabrillo State would never be the same.

Knocking down a passing nurse carrying a bundle of linen, Starsky ran with his head down to elude the clutches of pursuing nurses Switeck and Dawson. Despite having his hands cuffed to a belt around his waist Starsky still managed to move like a jackrabbit, shooting off the walls with the erratic action of a pin ball game gone haywire. He slammed into Hutch, tumbling both of them to the ground.

With his butt aching from the abrupt fall, Hutch found himself knotted hopelessly in a tangle of Starsky's legs. The warm weight of Starsky's tight butt right on top of Hutch's groin sent tingles of arousal through his body. It wasn't the first time seeing Starsky after a prolonged separation had excited him, but this was neither the time nor the place.

"I've taken better hits in the little league," Starsky teased, nearly winking at Hutch.

"Speak for yourself," Hutch groused, hoping no one noticed his raging hard on as the two white-jacketed nurses ran up. "Could somebody get him off me?" he said louder, shoving Starsky upwards as Switeck and Dawson grabbed both of his arms to haul him to his feet.

"Get the wheelchair," Switeck ordered his colleague, seizing Starsky by the collar.

Hutch straightened his rumpled white tunic, privately worried that Starsky could get himself into big trouble just because of his usual smart mouth. Still, it was good to see his best friend, even in such an outlandish outfit. Starsky wore a blue shirt with the sleeves torn off; white pants that hugged his rounded ass tightly and were rolled up to the knees like clamdiggers. A red bandana tied rakishly around his neck finished the ensemble.

Despite the circumstances and the two nurses detaining him, Starsky still maintained a cocky attitude, boasting cheerfully to the scowling Switeck. Distracted with his partner's antics, Hutch didn't notice the syringe Nurse Bycroft held in her hand until she swiftly injected the contents into Starsky's buttock.

Starsky stiffened with pain from the needle as Switeck shoved him roughly into the wheelchair.

"Why'd you do that?" Hutch had to make a supreme effort to keep his voice respectful when every instinct was already screaming that he should grab Starsky and get the hell out of here. What had she given him? And what if he had a bad reaction to it? Less than five minutes inside the hospital and already Starsky was drugged.

"To keep him quiet," Bycroft said coldly.

Popping up out of the wheelchair like a jack-in-the-box Starsky announced, "I'd really rather stand." The much taller Switeck loomed over him with obvious menace but Starsky held his ground with a goofy grin.

"Was that really necessary?" Hutch questioned. He'd observed the hard faced nurse all week and had already formed a casual distaste for her way of dealing with the patients, but now she'd harmed his partner. This wasn't allowed.

"Will you sit down, Mr. Skyler, please?" Bycroft insisted, using Starsky's alias. "Mr. Hansen, how much time have you had in a mental institution?"

Playing up his obsequious alter ego, Hutch stuffed his anger as far down as it would go, noting absently that his erection had died. A good thing, really. "Well, actually, " he smiled genially at the nurse before glancing down at the man in the wheelchair. Starsky looked uncomfortable but not adversely affected by the drug. "I've-uh-I've been here one week." Hutch finished.

"One week?" Bycroft asked sarcastically, "My, we have a lot to learn, don't we? Mr. Switeck, will you take the new patient to his ward, please?"

"I'd-uh be happy to take him up there." Hutch volunteered eagerly, hoping to get some time to fill Starsky in on what he'd learned so far. Bycroft raised her eyebrows skeptically, but when Hutch added, "Well, I have to go up there anyway," she nodded her assent.

"As you like, Mr. Hansen," Bycroft handed over Skyler's admission papers before marching off, the true definition of a white starched battle-ax.

Grabbing the wheelchair handles, Hutch pushed forward, causing the thing to go around in a circle and jamming into the wall. The two onlooking men watched with unbridled amusement, snickering. Starsky sat with his left leg crossed over the right to avoid resting on the recently needled buttocks, keeping uncharacteristically silent, but his eyes slid warily over to Hutch's. Vainly attempting to get the wheelchair to straighten out, Hutch didn't have time to address Starsky's obvious concerns at the moment.

With a smirk Switeck leaned down and released the brake, "Sure you can handle this by yourself, Hansen?"

"Oh, better than you'll ever know, Hotlips," Starsky snarked with a feckless grin. Switeck glowered even more so.

"I'll manage," Hutch replied loftily. He pushed the chair forward, ramming it into the opposite wall. Starsky sighed dramatically, rubbing his left upper thigh as Hutch managed to gain control over the wheelchair and started them down the hall with a toss of his head.

Navigating the corner with the ease of a professional wheelchair driver, Hutch chatted gaily, "Ah, here we are, here's your room."

"'M hungry." Starsky's head lolled back drunkenly, the drugs beginning to take effect.

"And here's the rec room. I know you'll have many, many, many happy hours in here," Hutch crowed, well aware that he was being watched by both staff and patients.

Surveying the room over Starsky's head, Hutch had to admit it looked depressing as hell. The inmates wandered aimlessly, although the group of patients he'd set up earlier with a deck of cards was still playing. In fact, they appeared not to have even drawn any new cards or bet a single new chip since he'd left them.

Starsky sighed when Hutch once again steered the wheelchair into the door frame. "Hey." He let his head fall back, soft curls brushing with sensual silk against Hutch's arm, his eyes at half mast obviously fighting the sedative effects of the drug. "Who's the guy with the hat?"

Hutch searched the rec room for any noticeable hat-wearing patients; amazed Starsky had any observational powers at all, as looped as he was.

"No," Starsky muttered, stabbing a finger in the opposite direction. The chains linking his wrists to the belt jingled when he moved.

Looking back, Hutch saw a trench coated man, a self-imagined private dick from some hard-boiled thirties novel, eyeing them suspiciously over the top edge of his newspaper. "His name is..." he mentally thumbed through the list of names he'd learned in the last week, finally locating it under the 'L's'. "Freddie Lyle." Hutch looked down into Starsky's face, wishing they were anywhere but here. Starsky looked half-drunk, languid and sensual, with his hair sticking out into untamed twists of curls like devil horns. "Reads a lot of detective novels. Thinks he's Sam Spade."

"Then why is he staring at me?" Starsky asked plaintively.

"I dunno, maybe you're just paranoid." Hutch chuckled, inordinately glad to have Starsky back at his side. The vague feeling that this case could easily turn on them had eased up for the time being. He and Starsky could take on anything, as long as they were together. "Or maybe he thinks you're his next case."

He maneuvered the chair around so Starsky could see Lyle without straining his neck. Freddie folded up his newspaper with the air of a man taking a midmorning stroll in a public park and sauntered past them with a sidelong glance.

Greeting the ersatz gumshoe pleasantly, Hutch swung the wheelchair around to match the man's stride. Giving another push, he was surprised when the chair didn't move due mostly to Starsky's sneaker being jammed against the wall. Only this time it was Starsky who'd instigated the roadblock.

"Lookit!" Starsky leaned back, his head almost supported by Hutch's arm, staring into the rec room at a cute blond in a pink sweatshirt who was chatting with some of the other patients, "Isn't that Jane Hutton, our crusading girl reporter?" he asked in amazement. "Have you talked to her yet?"

"Nope," Hutch grunted in disgust and he wasn't planning to, either. Very leery of even approaching the snoopy journalist he'd been extremely unhappy to learn that she was being admitted only a day after he'd started working. She could easily jeopardize their case or even put their undercover personas in danger. If he had anything to say about it, Jane Hutton would be out on her ear in an hour, but unfortunately there was no legal reason Dobey could find to haul her out. She'd registered under her own name, claiming chronic, unrelenting depression. Although, privately Hutch though even an idiot could tell that the bouncy, vibrant girl with the Shirley Temple curls wasn't depressed, there was nothing he could do about it. Therefore he had to try and ignore the girl and follow through with his own investigation as best he could.

Finally driving the chair through the door of Starsky's new abode Hutch slapped Starsky's papers down on the bedside table, remembering to stay in character and at least act like a nurse. Flipping down the bed covers he fluffed the pillow and smoothed out the sheets.

"She's some piece a'work," Starsky slurred, meaning Jane. "Most people'd have to be committed to come to a place like this. Boy, we sure got some job on our hands."

"Sssh," Hutch cautioned, closing the door. Starsky was a little too spacey right now to be discussing the case.

"Oh," Starsky nodded, jerking on his restraints, "Would you get me out of these bracelets?"

"Sure, c'mon," Hutch helped him to stand, holding onto the back of the belt and unbuckling it at the same time. Starsky was as loose limbed as a newborn colt, climbing up onto the bed with awkward grace.

"How long do we got to find some homicidal nut in a place that specializes in 'em?" Lying back on the pillow, Starsky blearily watched Hutch fumble with the key ring for the handcuffs.

Hutch finally got the key inserted but found that didn't loosen the cuffs. He was starting to get worried about Starsky's condition. As a psych patient, he had very little say in his own treatment and any defiant or negative behavior was dealt with instantly. Starsky was too cocky for his own good. Hopefully, he could avoid being sedated in the future or he'd be useless as a detective, which didn't bode well for uncovering whatever evil was being perpetrated at Cabrillo.

"I can hardly keep my eyes open," Starsky let them close briefly, then widened his drug hazed dark blue eyes in compensation, "So, what you got?"

"Not much," Hutch still struggled with the key; "Officially the hospital lists two of the deaths as suicides by hanging." He'd finally realized he was using the wrong key and succeeded in unlocking the cuffs with a smaller key, "And two of the deaths as respiratory failure." He dumped the entire belt and attached handcuffs into the seat of the wheelchair.

"Respiratory failure?"

"Yeah, you know, accidental overdose, suffocation, that sort of thing."

"Well, I dunno about this." Starsky's voice cracked with emotion, "I mean I once saw on the late show a movie about an insane asylum, this guy went undercover an' he never came out."

"Well, what happened?" Hutch encouraged. He'd missed Starsky enough to even listen to one of his interminable rehashes of 'B' movie plots.

"He went bananas."

"Aw, Starsky," Hutch grinned, not missing an opportunity to tease his gullible friend. "That's just in the movies, that's not going to happen to you." He widened his eyes in a ghoulish fashion, lowering his voice with a sardonic chuckle, "You wait, you'd be surprised. Most of the people here are quite normal."

"Don't do that," Starsky curled away from him petulantly.

The bedroom door burst open, emitting Freddie Lyle, thirties gumshoe extrordinaire, who spouted his ramblings as Starsky looked on half in terror of the man's sudden appearance and half with an interest in his theories. Hutch managed to haul him out expeditiously, but Starsky had succumbed to the sedative by the time Hutch turned back to finish their conversation.

He sighed, letting himself admire the male body curled up on the bed. His eyes lingered on the curve of Starsky's butt then traveled up the long, lean back to the vulnerable neck with its wealth of dark curls. He longed to caress that riot of soft hair, and lean over to gently kiss those closed eyes. But not here and not now. Anyway, he wanted Starsky a willing participant, not some drugged out zombie. Stepping back, Hutch smiled, saying, "Welcome to Cabrillo State."

Justifying that after such an uproarious morning, he needed a break, Hutch headed for the staff lounge for a cup of coffee. Amazingly, the coffee there was hearty, bracing and flavorful, in complete opposition to the stuff served in the cafeteria. He'd avoided that ptomaine breeding ground since his first day on the job, preferring to brown bag a bean sprout sandwich and fruit salad for his meals.

Selecting a mug from the ones on the drain board, Hutch poured a generous cup of coffee for himself, but Jane Hutton's unceremonious entrance, much like Freddie Lyle's had been into Starsky's room, startled him so much that he spilled the beverage all over the linoleum.

"Y'know, this place is starting to look like a precinct station!" Jane announced loudly, her fists planted on her hips, "What are you guys doing here?"

Not interested in bantering with the aggressive young woman, Hutch tried to bluntly scare her off while he cleaned his mess but she turned the tables on him with a suddenness that left him fuming and disturbed.

Jane eased the door shut, after glancing out to ensure their privacy and glanced over her shoulder at Hutch, one hand straying up to toy with her froth of blond curls. "D'you think if we joined forces you two could respect me in the morning?"

Fighting not to smile at that turn of phrase, Hutch let some of his anger bleed away. "Not in this life, sister. We're going after two different cases here. The drug smuggling is your angle." He skewered her with a stiffly pointed finger, "You think this place looks like a squadroom? It isn't, and Starsky's in a hell of a lot more danger than the two of us. You had yourself committed for depression, right?"

"Yeah." Jane frowned, obviously aware he'd peeked at her confidential chart.

"So, basically, since it was self initiated, you can leave anytime you want to?"

"That was the only way my editor would agree to any of this."

"Good. Then I suggest you check yourself out of here." Hutch wiped his tired eyes. He really hated the uncomfortable glasses he wore in the character of Nurse Hansen.

"What if I told you I think that Switeck is into some major crap?" she wheedled.

"All right," he sighed in resignation. "Give."

"What do I get in return?"

"You want an exclusive? I can't promise anything. Right now it's an ongoing police investigation into the deaths at this hospital," Hutch poured himself another cup of coffee, finally able to take a long swallow of the hot brew. Was Jane intimating that Switeck was involved in the possible murders?

"Well, see, we're not even really working on the same things," Jane shrugged, back to playing with her hair, curling one strand around her finger. "Do you know how many drugs disappear out of this hospital alone? Why, it's a statewide problem, but Cabrillo State is one of the worst perpetrators."

"So you want reciprocal information, whatever evidence we each find out, we share?" Hutch asked carefully, still not happy to have the little reporter in on the case. "You think Switeck is stealing drugs?"

"I haven't pinned anything down yet," Jane stuck out her bottom lip in frustration. Hutch was fascinated in an abstract way that such a pretty specimen of female flesh no longer distracted him the way it once might have. He couldn't get the image of Starsky curled up on the bed out of his mind. And for some reason, in his daydream, Starsky still had the cuffs on.

"But, if you guys could possibly cause some sort of diversion..." she grinned at her sudden inspiration, "Maybe keep Switeck, ol' lady Bycroft and the others out of the staff areas for a while...I could do a little snooping."

"Get yourself caught." Hutch shook the fantasies out of his mind, refocusing on the conversation.

"You think so little of me, Hutchinson?"

"No, you have proven that you can get yourself out of some tight scrapes, but I just don't want this to be one of them," Hutch answered tightly.

"Thank you, I think," Jane gave him a strange look. "Listen, I have an idea."

Against his own better judgment, Hutch listened. Because in truth, he could use a little more help on the case, and Starsky sleeping the afternoon away wasn't going to do it.

+++++++++++++++++++

Hutch had to go about his daily duties now with two souls on his conscience. He couldn't jeopardize Starsky's cover by hovering all the time and he wasn't supposed to supervise Jane's group at all, so he had to observe both from a distance. It was exhausting trying to keep his eyes and ears open constantly for anything out of the ordinary and listen to Nurse Bycroft's constant comments about his performance on the job. She sent him on useless runs to the lab for blood levels, told him to clean up the messes made by incontinent patients and scolded him repeatedly about his nursing notes. Hutch privately thought the latter would amuse Starsky, since in the department, Starsky's arrest reports were sometimes the joke of the entire squadroom. This time it was Switeck who seemed to get pleasure every time Bycroft called for Mr. Hansen.

Thus, he was more than glad as the long hours of his twelve-hour shift were grinding to a close and he could escape the asylum for one night. Unfortunately the same could not be said for Starsky and Jane and for the first time, Hutch was reluctant to go.

When he was called into the rec room, he had both a jolt of fear and subsequent relief to be told that Skyler had gotten himself in trouble fraternizing with the female patients and had been given a sedative.

Starsky slouched almost bonelessly in a corner, a strange little smile playing on his lips. Although he knew it was the drugs making Starsky so languidly seductive, Hutch couldn't ignore the way his cock jumped when his partner swung around with a saucy impertinence. "It's the blond blintz," he slurred. "Couldn't handle me on your own, Switeck? Had t'call in reinforcements?"

"Skyler, the women's area is off limits, one more infraction of the rules and you'll be in restraints. Which I'd be more than happy to apply," Switeck sneered, once again attempting to use his height to intimidate. 

Starsky laughed, a sound that sent chills down Hutch's spine. Starsky really didn't know when to back off and play it safe. 

"Hansen, take him to his room," Switeck growled, his face turning an alarming shade of purple.

Hutch was more than happy to get Starsky out of a pissed off Switeck's purview, and pulled over a wheelchair. He gave Starsky a glare that would have bored through steel and was rewarded with his partner's abrupt surrender. Switeck muttered a string of taunts as Hutch manhandled the wheelchair out of the rec room with considerably more finesse than earlier in the day.

"I'm starting to feel like a lousy pin cushion," Starsky bitched, rubbing his left buttocks with the flat of his hand. Hutch had such a strong urge to help that little soothing he had to look away for a moment.

"I've warned you about Switeck. He thinks he's following medical standard procedure," Hutch reminded, inwardly cursing the vindictive man. It couldn't possibly be good for Starsky's physical well being to be getting injections of tranquilizers twice in the same day. "He can get back at you."

"You mean every time a patient causes a little bit of trouble it's standard operating procedure to shoot 'em up?" Starsky asked in amazement.

"What else can they do?" Hutch wheeled Starsky into his room and parked the chair. After only a week on the job he had more than a healthy appreciation for the difficult job the staff at Cabrillo State had. Long hours with patients who could range anywhere from catatonic to combative. Some of the doctors and nurses were compassionate and well meaning but just as many used the job to take out their aggressions on people who couldn't fight back. That was all the more reason he resolved to uncover the nastiness here, and clean the place up. "Every medical facility in the state is chronically understaffed."

Standing stiffly like an arthritic old man, Starsky winced, then gasped when the lights abruptly extinguished. "What was that?" he blurted.

"It's got to be 11 o'clock, they turn the lights out then," Hutch explained, but being in a dark mental ward was more than a little spooky. Starsky pressed against him for a moment, the heat from his body igniting the embers smoldering in Hutch's belly.

"Terrific," Starsky grumbled.

"Look, I just talked to Jane," Hutch rushed in, trying to keep Starsky's imagination away from boogie men and bad late night movies. Explaining her theory that Switeck was probably involved in more than one illegal activity, possibly including the murders, Hutch concluded that he was going down to headquarters to have Dobey do a complete rundown on the male nurse. Wishing they had more to go on, Hutch hated like hell having to leave Starsky here overnight, alone and unprotected.

"Hey," in the dark Starsky sounded vulnerable, "I gotta feeling this is gonna be a long weekend. Don't go far."

Hutch slid his hand up Starsky's arm, surprised when Starsky clung briefly to him before climbing into bed. "You okay, Starsk?" Hutch asked softly, wishing he had cat eyes. The light from the hall was enough to let him see Starsky's features: the long sharp nose, the almost fragile line of his jaw and his defensively hunched shoulders, but his expression was lost in the shadows.

"All of a sudden I don' wanna play cuckoo's nest anymore," Starsky hitched a mirthless laugh. "It sounded a whole lot more noble--and kinda fun--on the drawin' table. Now it just hurts." He rolled over on his right side as he'd done before to stay off the double needled hip.

Settling on the bed, Hutch rubbed small circles over Starsky's shoulder blades, the action relaxing him as much as it did the recipient. Their physical relationship was still such a new thing between them, barely out of its infancy and the seven day separation had left both with a strong need to reconnect. Without even thinking of the consequences, Hutch leaned forward, nuzzling Starsky's warm, sweet neck. Curls tickled his nose as he inhaled pure aroma of Starsky and pushing back the ratty blue collar Hutch kissed bared skin.

"Huuutch," Starsky whispered on a long drawn out breath. "Not here."

"Damn," the supplication returned Hutch's senses, but his hormones were still raging like a teenaged boy's. Resting his cheek against the soft hair, Hutch left one last kiss before getting off the bed. "I gotta go, Starsk, but...."

"It'll be okay," Starsky turned towards him, squinting from the small amount of light coming in through the door. He touched his neck with gentle fingers, tracing the place where Hutch had kissed. "I'll give you a raincheck on this though."

Rubbing the bridge of his nose where the prop glasses pinched, Hutch huffed a breath, collecting his scattered wits. "Well, listen--uh--Jane wants us to help her get into the private offices, to see if she can find anything incriminating."

"She's gonna do it by herself?" Starsky yawned

"No, that's where you come in. You gotta create a diversion, something that'll bring everyone running so she has a couple of minutes."

"You mean I'm back to being the dart board," Starsky groaned, rubbing his buttocks again. "I'll think of something, no problem. It'll knock their socks off."

"I'll bet," Hutch smiled fondly at him.

"Get outta here, Hutch. It looks suspicious if you keep comin' in here at all hours."

"How can I watch your back if I'm halfway across the city talkin' to Dobey. I hate this, I have a bad feeling..."

"Don't start quoting Han Solo," Starsky chuckled. "I thought you didn't even like Star Wars."

"Special effects overload," Hutch groused good-naturedly, but he knew what Starsky was doing. He was letting Hutch leave with a clear conscience. That what ever might happen while he was gone wasn't a direct result of his leaving. But parting was still hard. "I'll be around for another half an hour or so, gotta take some stuff over to Dr. Matwick." He closed his hand around Starsky's, storing up the sensation of his lover's touch for a whole night. "I-I'll check on you before I leave."

"S'good," Starsky squeezed his hand, cuddling into the pillow. "I'll be right here, asleep. This stuff knocks me out cold."

+++++++++++

Feeling like a traitor for leaving, Hutch gathered up the patient files from the nurse's station as his last official medical duty for the day. Then his cop duties reverted, since he had a midnight meeting scheduled with Dobey back at headquarters and paperwork to go over there. It would be a miracle if he got to bed before three or four a.m. Then, with any luck, he could sleep until nine before having to return to this hellhole at 11.

He never expected that delivering the files would drop another piece of the Cabrillo puzzle into his lap. Matwick, a florid, beefy man wearing thick black frame prescription glasses, was thoroughly engrossed in watching two mice playing in their cage. He was delighted to give Nurse Hansen an entire presentation on his newest discovery and immediately launched into a lecture on a belladonna derivative that worked in conjunction with the adrenal gland to chemically reduce aggression.

Playing the admiring supplicant to the hilt, Hutch mentioned that he was in med school and had studied the Van Cleef experiments. The name literally swam out of the recesses of his brain from those long ago pre-med science courses he'd taken. Matwick seemed pleased at Hansen's interest and continued to expound his theories until Hutch was afraid he'd be sick right in the office.

"The more violent the mouse becomes the more effective the drug is," Hutch deduced, trying to sound impressed. In truth he was appalled.

"Right." Matwick nodded with pride. "It completely incapacitates the subject. A sort of built in behavior control."

Swallowing his terror, Hutch leaned in closer conspiratorially, "Have you tested any of the inmates yet?"

"Well," Matwick nodded. "I must admit I've been tempted with some of our more severe discipline problems." He glanced over at the partially obscured file on the desk, but the other man didn't notice.

"Oh, right," Hutch wanted to run straight to Starsky's room and break him out but he forced himself to walk casually down the hall. A glance into the darkened room showed that Starsky was indeed asleep, the covers pulled up under his chin. With a heavy heart Hutch left the building.

+++++++++++++++++

When Hutch arrived the next morning he buried himself in busy work to keep his mind off what he knew would be happening in the rec room. Purposely avoiding his partner he waited until word of the cockroach race fiasco had permeated the whole hospital before heading into the large open room. A game show blared on the television across the room but no one seemed to be paying much attention. Excited patients milled around restlessly, still manic after the morning's events despite the staff's efforts to calm everyone down. Apparently Starsky's little diversion had gone over like gangbusters. All the patients from the group Starsky had been assigned assailed Hutch with wild descriptions of the First Annual Cabrillo Cockroach Derby. Hutch had to hand it to his irrepressible partner; he sure knew how to stir up a room.

"But when Bycroft stomped on the Cabrillo Kid..." Huge, bald headed Bo shook his head sadly, "Somethin' broke inside Rudy. He didn't look too good. Switeck gave him the needle and they took him away."

"That dame oughta be sleepin' with the fishes," Freddie Lyle grumbled, tugging on his trenchcoat.

Hutch couldn't agree more and reassured the patients as best he could, glad when afternoon meds were doled out so he could escape the crowd. But nursing duties took up the bulk of his day and he didn't have a chance to really look in on his best friend until much later. Bycroft was on his case all day, nitpicking at his smallest mistakes and Hutch had to repeatedly bite his tongue to stop himself from lambasting the woman and walking out. How the other nurses could work under her was beyond him. Luckily, his employment was only short term.

He finally got a chance to check in on Starsky during his dinner break. It was already dark out now that October had swept in, and he mourned not having had any contact with Starsky all day. Switeck must have given the dark haired detective a double dose because Starsky lay face down on his bed in a drug induced sleep hours after the injection. Hutch put out an unsteady hand to touch his love, stroking unruly curls, then rejoicing in the feel of muscles moving air and out of his lungs. Tension clenched at Hutch's belly. If they didn't uncover enough evidence to charge one of the criminals inside the hospital soon he feared for Starsky's health. Especially if Starsky's shenanigans caught the eye of maniacal Dr. Matwick with his horrible belladonna extract. Hutch shuddered to think of Starsky strapped to a table with a huge needle full of the stuff being injected into his veins.

With a reluctant last look he hurried down the corridor to the women's wing to find Jane. Hopefully Starsky's sacrifice had yielded results or they were all screwed.

Jane was waiting for him, dressed in a yellow wrap around dress designed to show off her tight little figure. Leaning entirely too closely to Hutch, she informed him that she had discovered Switeck was the one stealing drugs from the hospital and produced a tiny vial of Lithium Carbonate. An important drug for Manic depressives, it took in a high price on the street and most of the buyers had never been diagnosed with any mental illnesses.

Examining the tiny bottle, Hutch was very uncomfortable with her blatant attempts at flirtation. Was he really that far over the line that he no longer even wanted a female body next to him, or was it just that Starsky's predicament was making him hypersensitive to both sexes?

Assuring her that he'd keep an eye on Switeck, he pocketed the med, still disturbed by his strange reaction to her womanly wiles. Just a few weeks ago, he would have been flattered and even a little turned on by a lovely blond coming on to him, but now all he could think about was leaving Starsky alone and possibly in danger. And the weird thing was, just thinking about Starsky, lying there, exposed and vulnerable, made his pulses race and it wasn't from fear.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Back at headquarters, Hutch was glad to find out Dobey had made headway on a background check on the tall male nurse, but it wasn't exactly inspiring news. Switeck had been in some major trouble and it stirred up the acid pit in Hutch's stomach once again. He hated that Starsky lay there, unprotected and alone, without back up. Although Dobey tried to assure him that the curly haired detective could take care of himself, Hutch still found himself agitated and unable to relax. Even sleep eluded him, and he was more than tired.

When he finally did manage to drop off, dreams assailed him. At first they were simply the sort where he was running down a long corridor without the slightest idea why. Just that some shadowy form was chasing him and he couldn't quite manage to get away. When he wrenched open a dreamscape door and plunged through, Starsky was bound on the bed, hands cuffed to a belt at his waist and wearing nothing else. Hutch reached out to unfasten the cuffs and encountered a stiff penis instead. He wrapped his cold fingers around the hot, red staff staring into his partner's adoring eyes. But outside the door, evil shimmered in the dark and he knew they needed to get away.

Jerking awake, Hutch panted raggedly, very aware of a painful erection tenting the front of his boxer shorts. Damn, what was with him lately? He'd been electrically charged since the first time he and Starsky had gotten together, but his lust hadn't been a quarter of what it was now. And he hadn't even thought about bondage since a long ago encounter early in his college days. But Starsky with his hands captured in those metal cuffs had been a constant fantasy since the moment 'Rudy Skyler' burst through the doors of the asylum. And Hutch doubted that Starsky would have any interest in that sort of kink, especially after his rough treatment at Cabrillo.

Pushing off the sweat-damp bedsheets, Hutch headed for the shower to deal with the boner between his thighs.

+++++++++++++++

Just pulling into the parking lot of the hospital both depressed and energized Hutch. He dreaded going back into the building. It was now Starsky's third day and they hadn't cracked the case as easily as he'd hoped. The disturbing news about Switeck's drug dealing simply complicated matters all the more. Of course, starting his shift meant Hutch would be able to see Starsky, and with any luck, he'd be awake all day and in the mood to talk. Hutch missed hanging out with his buddy, just sitting around passing a beer bottle back and forth and trading insults. He couldn't wait until this whole case was over, then he and Starsky could take a whole weekend off, maybe watch the upcoming World Series, maybe make a little hay while the sun shined. He was easy, in more ways than one, as long as Starsky was by his side.

Not finding either of his co-conspirators in the rec room, Hutch strolled down the main hall, nodding to Freddie Lyle who lurked in the intersection, and pushed open the door to Starsky's room.

The yellow blanket was pulled up over the bed's occupant, creating one of those obvious lumps that in no way hid the fact that there was someone underneath. Hutch grabbed the bedclothes, yanking them back in a single movement.

Starsky peered up at him, winking with a cocky smirk, his wild curls in even more disarray than usual. Hutch grinned back, his fears that Starsky might have been taken off to be experimented on by that sadistic bastard Matwick melting like ice in hot tea. Starsky looked incredible, bare chested except for the jaunty red bandana around his neck. Hutch wouldn't mind waking up to that sight every morning. Just the small taste of it that he'd had in the last few weeks had only whetted his appetite for more. Unable to take his eyes off his partner, Hutch dropped the books he'd brought onto the bed without a second thought. Starsky propped himself up on his elbows staring right back at him with an erotic smile that said he just about ready to jump Hutch's bones.

Giving a relieved sigh, Jane stretched out of her crouch on the other side of the bed, "We thought you were the enemy," she exclaimed. "Did you find out anything about Switeck?"

"Well, he's got a record, all right," Hutch barely noticed her, drawn in by Starsky's allure, his earthy sexiness in the midst of this pit of vipers.

"Yeah?" Starsky encouraged, grinning all the wider, very obviously aware that he was driving Hutch wild

"Back in New York," Hutch removed his glasses, toying with the earpieces to distract himself from the incredible body so close beside him. "Three priors, all for dealing in trafficking, but he got off on all three of them so it didn't show up on his records out here when he applied for a job."

"Wow, a guy like that working in a hospital!" Jane exclaimed. Hutch was momentarily surprised, he'd basically forgotten she was in the room with his eyeful of half naked Starsky.

"Was working in a hospital," Hutch corrected, emphasizing the word 'was'. "He took a hike."

"Where'd he go?" Starsky wondered.

"Well," Hutch shrugged, idly swinging his glasses around. "He didn't show up at his apartment last night. The place was vacated, clothes, furniture, everything. He didn't come to work this morning." Starsky widened his eyes at the news, but when he didn't have anything to contribute in the way of comment Hutch continued, "Dobey put out an APB on him. I dunno, Starsk, there's something a lot bigger here than just Switeck."

"Sure sounds like it," Starsky agreed.

Jane took her leave, babbling about her encounter group. Hutch wondered if she'd been aware how much he'd centered in on Starsky and basically excluded her from the conversation. It couldn't be helped, he was worried about his headstrong friend in ways he couldn't even explain.

"Yeah, I've got to run, too," Hutch said. Remembering the books he'd specifically stopped at the used bookstore to pick up for Starsky, he handed them over with a slight flourish. "Oh, a couple of detective books for you."

"'The Big Sleep' and 'The Long Goodbye'?" Starsky read the titles in dismay. "Hutch!"

Pausing at the door, Hutch didn't want to leave. He was rooted to the spot, even knowing that Bycroft would come looking for him very soon.

"Are these s'pposed to make me feel better lyin' here?" Starsky asked, his New Yorkese especially strong suddenly.

"You like thrillers and maybe it'd give you an in with Freddie. Give you some common lingo," Hutch teased, wishing Starsky hadn't pulled the covers up a little higher so he could get a peek of that long line of hair trailing from his belly button on southward.

"Yeah, I guess it could at that."

"You gonna come in for lunch?" Hutch asked, thinking he hadn't seen Starsky eat a meal in the last few days.

"Uh, no," Starsky swallowed thickly with a shake of his head, his expression so wary it gave Hutch a tendril of fear. "Feel kind of hung over, y'know? Drugs make me nauseous."

"Starsky, when was the last time you had anything to eat?"

"Musta been sometime yesterday," Starsky hedged. "Don't worry, Hutch, the food here don't look too appetizing. I'm holding out for a big thick one at Giant Burger."

"You're not going to get one around here." Hutch damped down his mother hen instincts, but it concerned him that Starsky probably hadn't had nourishment in 24 hours or more. He'd been knocked out from the sedatives all afternoon and night, which added up to three meals missed and then there was the fact that he'd been dosed up twice the day before. "Get up and I'll personally escort you into the rec room. Probably a few muffins and some OJ left over from breakfast still there. Or you could be in luck, they're serving pork and beans for lunch today."

"Hutch, I don't want any," Starsky groaned pulling the yellow blanket up around his chin.

"This isn't up for discussion, buddy," Hutch said sternly. "Patients aren't supposed to loiter in their rooms in the middle of the day. You don't eat, it'll go in the nurse's notes."

"You're getting off on all this power, aren't you?" Starsky accused sliding his legs over the side of the bed. Moving stiffly he retrieved his disreputable blue shirt from a bedside drawer and buttoned it.

"How're you holding up?" Hutch asked, all of a sudden feeling guilty for forcing Starsky to do something he obviously didn't want to do. And when Starsky didn't want to eat, he must really feel awful.

"Butt's sore," Starsky rubbed his left buttock ruefully then gave his partner such a lecherous grin Hutch's heart thudded. "But, hey, I'm kinda getting used to it after that farewell party we had the night before you started work here. Couldn't sit down for a week."

"Calling me a pain in the ass?" Hutch pretended to be annoyed but was delighted with the banter.

"I just wish I had a little more of yours and less of this kind," Starsky twisted the knot of his neck bandana to the side and ran fingers through his already wild hair. "C'mon, can't be late for the beans and wieners." He leered at Hutch's swelling groin and swung open the door.

Hutch rounded up his charges for lunch, pleased to see Starsky dig into his baked beans with gusto. But he lost sight of his friend for the next few hours when Bycroft loaded him down with her usual list of duties to keep him busy. While finishing up with a catatonic patient who'd needed a full bath and change of bedclothes after a supremely messy bowel movement--which Dawson had termed a 'code brown'--Hutch glanced out the barred window. It was a spectacular day. The blue sky and brisk winds invited Hutch to linger there for a few minutes and he watched the activities below with a longing to be outside running or hiking. A familiar figure in a tattered blue shirt and tight white pants crossed the parking lot deep in conversation with another man wearing a trenchcoat and fedora. What the heck was Starsky doing near that blue Chrysler? He and Freddie Lyle circled the vehicle, peering in the windows and pointing at the leaves that the wind had piled up behind the rear tires.

Practically pushing his head through the window bars in an effort to read Starsky's lips at this distance Hutch was jerked out of his concentration by a scream from the next room. A woman was shrieking in Spanish, but it didn't take a linguistics expert to understand what she was saying. Hutch's college Spanish was enough to decipher the words 'He's dead! The man is dead!'

Dashing into the hall Hutch nearly ran full tilt into Dr. Matwick and Nurse Bycroft who were coming from the opposite direction. The hysterical housekeeper jabbered in Spanish and pointed frantically into the bathroom of Starsky's room. Hutch's heart sank into his bowels when he got a glimpse of Switeck sprawled brokenly in the bathtub.

"What's this woman going on about?" Matwick asked, then saw the body for himself.

"Switeck!" Bycroft gasped bringing a hand to her mouth. For just a split second she looked ready to cry.

"She says she was going to clean the bathroom when she found the body," Hutch supplied when it appeared that no one else was going to translate. He patted the woman's arm, offering her his handkerchief and some murmured words of comfort in her native language.

 _Damn, this was going to look bad for Starsky._ He had to run interference to prevent his partner from being implicated in the murder.

"Who did this?" Matwick demanded, closing the door so that the growing crowd of inmates didn't see the dead nurse. "Whose room is this?"

"Rudy Skyler's," Bycroft replied in a remote voice. "Mr. Dawson, Mr. Hansen, do either of you know where he is?"

"Nope." Dawson shook his head quickly, immediately shepherding his group back to the rec room.

"I saw him out in the exercise area," Hutch admitted. Maybe if he was sent to find Starsky he could warn him in some way.

"Get him, now!" Matwick ordered. "Take Dawson in case he's combative. I want full restraints used, maximum force."

"Doctor, do we really know he had anything to do with this?" Hutch stalled. "Skyler was practically unconscious last night."

"He's shown a high tolerance for sedatives," Bycroft said slowly. "Restraints may be more effective in his case."

"A high tolerance?" Hutch repeated. "He was knocked out."

"We had to use a higher than normal dose for a man his size," she said loftily. "Go get him, Mr. Hansen."

"Yes, ma'am," Hutch fought his natural anger at the situation, knowing he had to do everything in his power to keep Starsky safe.

"Dawson!" Matwick called. "Get the Posey restraints out of the supply cabinet before you go down there."

"Shouldn't we be calling the police?" Hutch questioned, alarmed. Now it wasn't just the patients who were dying in a highly suspicious manner. "This is a homicide. You can't just cover it up."

"I will be informing the proper authorities, no need to be concerned, Hansen." Matwick frowned, his black eyes like tiny ants behind the thick glasses. "Bycroft, have Switeck taken to the morgue."

"Yes, doctor," she agreed with a glance over at Hutch. But she gave him no clue to her inner thoughts, just adjusted her nursing cap before marching over to the phone.

"Doctor Matwick, moving the body from the scene destroys evidence!" Hutch protested.

"What would you know about it?" Matwick asked so coldly Hutch was certain the doctor knew who the killer was.

"I--uh--t-took some criminal justice classes before pre-med."

"Well, you are well educated, aren't you? Any fool can see that Skyler must have hit Switeck over the head and hidden the body in the bathroom. There's nothing to investigate."

"How can you possibly know that? Switeck was a big man, St-skyler was sedated and a lot smaller," Hutch argued. Dawson had returned with a frightening array of leather and canvas to bind Starsky with and Hutch caught a glimpse of Jane Hutton standing in the doorway to her room, her eyes wide. "How could he have overpowered Switeck?"

"Hansen, Skyler had a history of violent behavior," Matwick said shortly, obviously tired of the discussion. "If you're ambivalent about this kind of work, you can be relieved of your duties."

"I'll go get him," Hutch said hastily.

It wasn't even as difficult as he'd feared it might be. Starsky and Freddie were standing just inside the patient's entry, still deep in discussion when Hutch homed in on them, cutting Starsky out of the huddle with a quick maneuver.

"Switeck's dead, in your room," he whispered pushing Starsky against the wall as gently as possible without looking like he was coddling the prisoner.

"W-what's goin' on?" Starsky jerked away from Dawson's grab at his arm.

"You're going down, asshole," Dawson sneered using a lot more force than Hutch had to shove the Starsky into the plasterboard.

"The fuzz got you," Freddie backed away pulling his fedora over his brow. "It's the chair for sure, Skyler."

"Hey, Dawson, no need to be so rough," Hutch fought to keep his hold on Starsky but it was a losing battle. Dawson shoved one of Starsky's arms into the sleeve of the canvas straight jacket causing Starsky to rabbit away from him with the rest of the jacket flapping loosely.

"Listen, this has nuthin' t'do with me!" Starsky shouted, "I ain't done nuthin'!"

Using his height Dawson just about bounced Starsky's head off the wall, leaving the curly haired detective momentarily stunned. He expertly crammed Starsky's arms into the garment, and hauled the longer than normal sleeves behind the prisoner's back.

"Give me a hand, here, Hansen! Buckle the buckles while I hold him down."

Hutch complied, his heart hammering hard against his ribcage. Putting his hands on his friend's back he could feel Starsky's heart pounding in lockstep with his own as he fastened up the clasps on the restraining garment. There was no sexual component to having his hands on Starsky this time, but all the same, he was glad to have even that little amount of physical contact to reassure both of them. He helped Dawson secure the sleeves to a strap that came up between Starsky's legs to keep the arms crossed in the front and immobilized. He couldn't even bear to look at his partner's face; sure he'd see recriminations and betrayal there.

"Fuck off!" Starsky struggled the whole time, kicking out with his feet.

Snarling with rage after one sneaker connected with his calf Dawson pushed Starsky down into a waiting wheelchair, using a large leather strap to bind him to the backrest.

"I'll push," Hutch tried to wrest some sort of command away from the cruel nurse, terrified at the turn of events. He grabbed the handlebars, waiting until Dawson had secured the buckle and stepped away. Leaning down, Hutch made a show of releasing the wheelchair brakes. "Starsk," he whispered, "Stay calm and I'll get you out of this."

"Sure you can handle it?" Dawson laughed nastily. "Watch out, he kicks like a mule."

"How'd ya like a game of football, Dawson, one on one?" Starsky sneered, striking out with his left foot. His head snapped back when Hutch propelled the chair forward with a mighty heave.

"Behave," Hutch hissed, getting them into the elevator ahead of the other nurse.

The rest of the afternoon took on the character of a nightmare. Starsky was trundled into bed; his arms still caught in the straight jacket. After he'd peppered the air with a few choice expletives Matwick ordered him gagged and his feet tied to prevent any further bruises to the shins of staff. Dawson claimed that Starsky nearly shattered his tibia.

Tightening the thick leather strap binding Starsky's crossed ankles under the watchful eyes of Matwick and Bycroft, Hutch finally looked straight into his best friend's indigo eyes. Starsky was seething but underneath was a strong current of fear, Hutch could almost smell it mingled with the sweat pouring off him. Biting down on the gag, Starsky stared back at Hutch with silent pleas for assistance, his chest heaving with the force of his rapid respirations.

"Switeck came in here last night to check on Skyler," Matwick proclaimed. "It must have happened then." Hutch could almost hear the certainty in his voice. He had to be in on the murder.

"I never thought Skyler capable of anything like this," Bycroft sighed.

Hutch tried to look unaffected by the ordeal, in his role as a trained nurse, but Starsky's intense gaze kept pulling him back, drawing him into his terror. This could not be going any worse.

"Well, I'll have to have a private session with him tomorrow," Matwick decided.

Hutch's breath caught and he fumbled with the buckle. A private session as a guinea pig for Matwick's latest drug concoction. What had he said? It completely incapacitated the subject. That was not going to happen to David Starsky.

"Should I sedate Mr. Skyler?" Bycroft asked. Hutch though he noted a hesitancy in her voice. Was there a drop of compassion in the woman after all?

"I don't think we'll have any problem with him trussed up like this," Matwick said coldly. "Perhaps he can use the time consider the seriousness of his crime and anticipate what his life will be like from now on."

"You're presuming guilt, here, without a lick of proof!" Hutch retorted, tearing his eyes away from Starsky to advance on Matwick. He checked himself just before he did something out of character for Hansen and blew his cover but it was a near thing.

"I have all the proof I need, Hansen," Matwick could have been carved from granite, his mind unchanged by any other versions of the truth but his own. "I presume you have a job to perform elsewhere?"

"Yes," Hutch agreed distantly. Getting angry and charging at the doctor was not going to get Starsky out of restraints. He had to find proof, irrefutable proof that the doctor had personally murdered Switeck or at least ordered someone else to do it.

Hutch went about his evening chores mechanically, the image of Starsky straightjacketed in the bed fused in his memory. Afraid that if Bycroft caught any hint that Hutch was sympathetic to Rudy Skyler's plight he'd be removed from the case, he forced himself to stay away from Starsky's room. But there was some sort of magnetic force that kept drawing him close to the door. Every time he even had to pass anywhere near that end of the hall he glanced in but didn't enter, not willing to jeopardize Starsky any further by checking on him too often. The confrontation kept playing over and over in his brain; the doctor and nurse standing in as self appointed judge and jury, condemning the prisoner without any right to counsel. When Matwick first declared Starsky Switeck's murderer he had vehemently denied all charges, swearing with frustration until the heavy set doctor had him gagged. Hutch had stood helplessly by cursing his own impotency. Unable to put in a word for his own defense Starsky had lain almost too placidly except for eyes that burned fever bright.

Hutch hadn't been able to resist the lure of Starsky's eyes. It had been as if there was no one else was in the room except the two of them. Restrained and immobile Starsky still vibrated with life, his expressive eyes sending out distress beacons as bright as the Bat signal above Gothem City.

Matwick had to be responsible for all the deaths at Cabrillo. With his sinister behind the scenes experimentation with un-FDA approved drugs there was no end to the fearful abuses and horrible mistreatment he may have perpetrated on those entrusted in his care. There had to be a way to prove his guilt without any more deaths. It distressed Hutch that he'd been undercover for ten days now but found little evidence for wrong doing at Cabrillo aside from Switeck's drug dealing. Matwick had said he never used the patients as lab rats, and thus far, there wasn't any proof that he had done so. Nurse Bycroft was gruff, rough and strict with her charges but, if Hutch had to be truthful, he hadn't seen her mistreat a patient, even if he disproved of her nursing style. In fact, Switeck had been the only one he'd seen use his position of power as a tool for intimidation. Before Starsky had arrived Hutch had witnessed the tall black haired nurse smacking a smaller patient against the wall for piddling in his pants. But he was now dead. Who had killed him? Time was running short and Hutch couldn't depend on Starsky any longer. Luckily Jane had proven to be far more help than he'd expected initially but he was loath to include her in anything more dangerous. Who knew what Matwick might do if he thought they suspected him?

Despite the seriousness of the circumstances Hutch kept envisioning Starsky's body encased in that white canvas prison, arms buckled behind his back, the narrow leather belt snugged tight between his legs, pressing firmly on his groin. It was possible that the buckle in the back was digging slightly into his spine or maybe just a little lower, pressing tightly over his puckered hole. Hutch didn't want to--couldn't--acknowledge that the memory of Starsky bound in that way aroused him. He had no interest in abusing or tormenting his sexual partner even as his genitals stirred at the recurring image of Starsky restrained. This was sick, it was insane--a fine thing for a man impersonating a nurse in a crazy house. But every part of him wanted to go back in there and run his hand over Starsky's body. He'd cup the canvas covered cock with one warm hand before peeling the straightjacket off and settling between those strong thighs for a night of sweaty lovemaking. Better yet, he'd prefer to do away with the straight jacket all together; it put far too many layers between he and his lover but if there was some possible way to lightly restrain Starsky? Just to take control of their joining for one night? That was it. A leather strap to wrap carefully around those narrow wrists and ankles...maybe one to shackle him to a bed, just for a while. It took Hutch's breath away, the depth and scope of his depravity. He had to get out of this mad house, back to sanity and logic. None of this had anything to do with logic.

What was it that Matwick had called the instruments of Starsky's incarceration? Posey restraints. Posey, like the flowers girls gather into small nosegays on May Day. Such an unexpectedly pretty name for a blatantly cruel device. Hutch knew that there were some patients who had to be restrained for their own protection. There wasn't enough staff to watch every confused person who wandered the halls of the hospital or tried to get out of bed unassisted. Those unfortunates were sometimes placed into a vest or cuffs which could tied to the bed--hopefully for only short periods of time. He'd heard Switeck growl "Slap 'em in Poseys," the first day he'd worked at the asylum but hadn't learned the meaning of the expression until a few days later. Policy stated that the doctor had to order a Posey restraint for a specific length of time and it was the nurse's responsibility to keep a watch on the patient and report any signs of redness or soreness from wearing the garment.

By the time his shift was drawing to a close, Hutch calculated that Starsky had been confined for nearly six hours and it didn't look like there was going to be any orders to release him any time soon. His emotions were all over the map, from the weird sexual arousal to fiery anger at the people who had done this to his best friend, with stops along the way at fear, depression and indignation. None of these were doing much to help Starsky get out of his present predicament.

Hutch tightened his abdominal muscles to stop the nervous flutters in his belly. His shift was over in just over an hour and he'd no longer have a logical reason for being in the building. There had to be something he could do.

Seeing Jane standing in the door of her room he reassured her that she'd be protected from any fall out, but really he had to admit he wasn't sure what was going to happen. Whatever came next was as elusive as the roll of a dice and Starsky had already crapped out. It was all on Hutch's shoulders now. He had to protect his partner and Jane while solving a murder without a motive. Why would Matwick want Switeck dead? And how could Hutch find any evidence when he wouldn't even be physically present for the next twelve hours? Then, once he returned in the morning, there was only twelve more hours until Starsky gave up his uniqueness to science. That scared him silly, imagining his best friend reduced to someone unrecognizable due to a chemical reaction. Starsky's mind didn't work like anyone else's he knew. Starsky could be fierce, innocent, wacky, professional and incredibly intuitive--maybe even brilliant, all in the space of an hour. How could he let someone mess with Starsky's mind? And yet he could not let his off duty relationship with Starsky interfere with his professional judgement now. Starsky was one of the team and Hutch had to keep the goals of the assignment of first importance. Find the murderer of innocent victims: preventing his own partner from becoming one of them was secondary.

The hospital corridor was silent and dark after hours. All patients were confined to their rooms past 11 p.m. so there was little worry that anyone might see Hutch walking in the wrong direction, away from the exit. There was even fewer staff on the night shift than on days and most of them only did the minimum required. Bed checks every few hours, the occasional meds doled out and a brief summery of the night on each patient's charts. Hutch had read Starsky's for the first night--one line: 'Pt. sleeping all shift, no violent outbursts. Vitals Stable.' There hadn't been one word about Starsky having been heavily sedated or any concern for the fact that he hadn't eaten or been allowed bathroom privileges. There were decent people working in this facility, he was certain of it, but none of them seemed to work on the lock-down ward.

Easing open Starsky's bedroom door, Hutch peered at his partner's pale shape still lying on top of the blankets, still in restraints. Starsky turned his head at the sound of the door and gave a tiny nod.

Shutting the door, Hutch flipped on the lights before gently levering Starsky's head up off the pillow to get at the knot on the gag. He untied it quickly, tossing the cotton rag aside. Starsky worked out the cramps in his jaw, licking his dry lips with an equally dry tongue. He blinked in the bright lights, the size of his pupils proving that someone, probably Bycroft, had probably given him a sedative some time after Hutch had been dismissed from the room.

"How do you feel?" Hutch asked with concern.

"Like an inmate in a state hospital," Starsky's voice quavered, revealing how close he was to loosing it. His eyes flicked up to lock on Hutch's, looking completely unguarded and vulnerable.

Wanting desperately to rip the straight jacket off his partner and chastising himself for his earlier illogical arousal at the thought of doing just that, Hutch paced restlessly to the end of the bed. "Look, I'm going off duty in half an hour. I'll call Dobey and I'll pull the plug on this whole case."

"No!" the word was practically ripped out of Starsky's throat. "Not yet."

"Starsky, Matwick is taking you in for therapy tomorrow." Hutch shook his long index finger at his infuriating best friend. Wanting to protect Starsky from the worst he'd never told him exactly what the man was doing back in his mad scientist's lab.

"What time tomorrow?"

"Midnight," Hutch gripped the end of the metal bed frame, a tiny part of his brain registering the weird reversal of their standard positions. Usually Starsky was the one in constant movement, but now he was unnaturally still with his arms locked behind him, which somehow made Hutch all the more agitated.

"Then we have until then to call Dobey," Starsky said quickly, his voice high pitched and breathy like he was fighting tears, but there was a raw power in him. A determination to see this investigation through and bring the guilty parties to justice. Hutch could admire the sentiment if he weren't so damned scared of losing someone he cared deeply about. He started to protest Starsky's utter disregard for his own safety when the bound man spoke again.

"Listen, the word I got on Switeck is that he's blackmailing someone," Starsky recounted, sounding more like his normal self now that they were talking about the case and not his life. "That's probably where he got all the drugs."

"Do you have any idea who?" Hutch asked in exasperation. He found it hard to look at Starsky lying there, all swathed in white like a fallen angel. This wasn't the way it was supposed to go down!

"No, I don't but whoever it was is probably doin' something a lot worse than stealing drugs and Switeck musta had something on him--some evidence."

"And whoever's got that is gone by now!" Hutch growled, angry about anything to do with this case.

"Are you sure?" Starsky questioned, his voice cracking from the strain.

"Jane," Hutch proclaimed, thinking quickly. "That night she saw..." He tapped his bottom lip, trying to remember just what the reporter had told him. "Switeck with the drugs in the office she also saw some papers."

Widening his eyes to fight the drugs in his system, Starsky asked, "You think you can get them?"

"Oh, c'mon!" Hutch groaned. Starsky must not be completely lucid; he was not asking Hutch to risk both their lives for some papers they weren't even sure pertained to their investigation. "Oh, c'mon, not until tomorrow afternoon!" He snapped. But just looking at his partner, motionless in the wretched canvas jacket and leather strap around his feet, Hutch couldn't possibly refuse him a single request. How hard would it be to sneak into Matwick's offices? " Well, they'd suspect me if I hung around after duty." He added defensively.

"Well," Starsky decided. "It'll have to be Jane."

"I don't like it." Hutch nearly spit. How could Starsky be so pig headed? "It's dangerous for her and it's dangerous for you."

"And whoever it is gets those papers before we do. We're gonna leave all these people alone in this place." Starsky was talking fast again, trying to convince but he sounded close to despair. "I know a little bit about how that feels like now." He took a shuddery breath, staring straight up at Hutch as if trying hypnotize him into coming around to his own way of thinking. "Lookit, it took us all this time to get this investigation started. You think if we pull out now we're gonna get approval for another one?"

He knew how to push every one of Hutch's buttons and it worked. Hutch sighed, "What am I going to do with you?"

Starsky didn't answer but his expression said it all. He wasn't about to back down.

"I'll get a hold of Jane," Hutch agreed ducking his head, the weight of his friends' lives heavy on his shoulders. What if he screwed up in some way, leaving them in die in this hellhole? He looked up at Starsky who wore the tiniest hint of a smile on his tired face. Why was he so happy? The staff had bound and drugged Starsky, abused him in the most vile ways and still he managed to hang on to his decency and empathy. It left Hutch with a sense of shame that he didn't quite measure up to Starsky's caliber. Not that Starsky would ever see it that way. He'd just say he was doing what had to be done, and putting himself on the front line of danger in the process. "And you be careful!" Hutch ordered, even though Starsky hardly ever did as he was told. Taking one last look at his best friend Hutch strode across the room, pulling the door open and checking the hall for late night visitors.

"Hutch?" Starsky called. There was unconcealed pain in his tone. He didn't want to be left alone in the dark but wasn't quite desperate enough to say it. Hutch could read his thoughts as if they'd appeared in the air like a dialogue balloon in a cartoon strip, without even looking at Starsky.

"Yeah?" Hutch paused at threshold, not really willing to leave him here but questioning the wisdom of remaining in the room. It would be so easy for someone to see he and Starsky together. They should just go now, leave. The urge to just break Starsky out of here while the others slept was so strong he had a hard time breathing. He stepped inside, pushing the door closed again,

"I have to go."

"You changed your mind? I thought..." It took Hutch a second to realize he and Starsky weren't talking about the same thing. "You gotta go?" he repeated, stressing the last word.

"Bad." Starsky squirmed. The tight belt constricting his groin sharply defined the bulge underneath and Hutch remembered his earlier fantasy of running his hand over that warm package. "There's a urinal under the bed somewhere. That's why nobody saw Switeck's body earlier. I was groggy when I got up and other nurse made me pee inta the bottle."

And hadn't even bothered to empty it, Hutch discovered. The day old urine smelled rank and he hurried to pour it into the toilet and rinse out the container.

"Hutch!" Starsky called urgently.

"Your bladder must be the size of a pea," Hutch teased to release some of the tension trapped in his chest. He reached under the curve of Starsky's buttocks, trying to ignore the sweet longing that swept over him at the feel of those round cheeks on the palm of his hand, and released the buckle to loosen the strap.

"You lie here all day and see how long you could hold it," Starsky retorted, gasping when Hutch liberated his cock. He gave a long pent up sigh of relief as his needs were addressed and Hutch tucked him back in. With the belt unfastened Starsky's arms were much looser. He rotated his shoulders, releasing his cramped muscles while Hutch emptied the urinal for the second time.

"Sorry, Starsk," Hutch stood over the bed. He ran his hand down the flat canvas of the straight jacket until he was just above Starsky's groin. So warm, so arousing... "I have to buckle it again."

"I know," Starsky replied with simple dignity. "Go ahead but..."

"What?" Hutch paused, hearing the unspoken question.

"Could you just...touch me again? Just for a second?'"

"Gladly." Hutch obliged, not at all surprised that he and Starsky were thinking the same thoughts. Pushing at the waistband of Starsky's dingy white dungarees he curved his fingers around the limp organ, grinning when it responded to his touch, swelling to fill his hand. Everything about the brief moment played out his daydream. Starsky arching into his hand with his body bound and unable to resist the wanton handling of his private parts. Hutch felt himself grow impossibly hard inside of a heartbeat but he couldn't prolong the dangerous act much longer. His throat constricting with passion at the clandestine rendezvous, he stuffed the stiff cock back into the white pants, grabbed the restricting strap and threaded it into the buckle before his resolve wavered. "How bout a rain check?" He whispered.

"Anytime," Starsky grunted as the belt settled tightly into place over his erection, closing his eyes when Hutch skimmed his hand down the jacket one last time to smooth out the wrinkles. "Just name the place."

Hutch saw himself pinning Starsky down on the bed in his Venice apartment, wrapping the leather straps around and around his bared arms before feasting on Starsky's naked flesh, drinking the hot ejaculate when Starsky came into his mouth, but he knew that would never happen. Starsky would never agree to be restrained just to satisfy Hutch's carnal desires, not after his experiences here, and Hutch would never in his wildest dreams use force on him. It was a dead issue. This was the one and only time it would ever happen. It had been the fulfillment of a sick fantasy and would remain buried in his psyche from now on. Starsky would never know the truth.

"I h-have to get back to Jane," Hutch slipped out, light headed and slightly giddy. He was a lecherous, deceitful man, using Starsky for his own whims when he couldn't resist. Even though Starsky had asked for the hand job, he shouldn't had agreed to it. This could go no further.

Jane readily agreed to searching for the incriminating papers, all puffed up with pride and importance when Hutch outlined her part of the caper. She shooed him out of her room so that she could get the job done. There was nothing else left for him to do but leave, trusting that Starsky and Jane could handle themselves in his absence. Hutch reported to Captain Dobey, bottling up his fears for a disastrous end to the case, and made sure that there would be extra patrol cars in the Cabrillo Hospital area for the following night. There was no telling how this would all resolve.

Wrapping himself in his blankets Hutch willed sleep to take over but he tossed and turned, imagining Starsky lying there completely defenseless against intruders. What if Matwick just jabbed a needle containing some gruesome poison into Starsky's arm while he slept? Crazy as that seemed, another sinister monster had already injected Starsky with a lethal drug. Nobody could have that happen twice, could they? Hutch's heart twisted at the macabre thought and he fell asleep remembering Starsky's hellish 24 hours when they'd both thought he would die from an unknown compound. No wonder that his dreams were full of violent images, and half-viewed horrors. He ran down endless corridors trying to find Starsky only to glimpse him strapped to a table undergoing some hideous procedure. Hutch's vision distorted and kaleidoscoped until he couldn't distinguish fantasy from reality.

Upon arrival to Cabrillo in the morning Hutch learned that Jane Hutton was in a coma, an overdose, the night nurse told him. She'd broken into the meds cabinet and taken barbiturates. They'd found her barely breathing with a pill bottle still in her hand and deduced the rest. Hutch kept a calm, professional exterior while listening to change of shift report but the pain in his belly was so strong he wanted to throw up. This was his fault. He'd sent her to do a job she wasn't trained for--one he should have done and now she was suffering for it. He had to continue to perform his nursing duties under the watchful eye of the head nurse and act like nothing was out of the ordinary.

"Mr. Hansen, we're a little short staffed this morning with..." Bycroft hesitated, a brief expression of grief slackening her stern face before she stiffened. "Without Mr. Switeck. Perhaps you could attend to Mr. Skyler? He hasn't been out of bed since the incident yesterday."

Hutch leapt at the chance to see his partner, but didn't want to appear too eager. "Is he still in restraints, ma'am?"

"Dr. Matwick has ordered him to be constantly restrained until tonight." She turned to a stack of patient charts, selecting one. "That doesn't preclude his receiving adequate treatment. Vitals, voiding, a meal, perhaps a wheelchair ride in the sunshine."

Almost sure he hadn't heard right, Hutch didn't move for a moment. She was giving him time alone with Starsky? Did she know something? Or was there actually a heart under that starched white uniform?

"Mr. Hansen, did you need anything else?" she asked sharply.

"No, ma'am," Hutch did him best not to dash down the hall. As he passed Jane Hutton's room he paused, watching her for a moment. She lay still as death, her face porcelain white. The sheet covering her barely moved with her breath and there was an IV snaking out from under the bedclothes to supply enough fluids to keep her alive. He had failed her, but he would get Starsky out in time. There just had to be enough time. For just a blink of an eye he superimposed Starsky's body over hers and barely made it out of the room with his breakfast still in his stomach.

Pushing open the door to his partner's room, his heart ratcheted up a notch, almost afraid that Bycroft had sent him in to find Starsky's body, but two deep blue eyes watched him from the bed.

"Hey, buddy, how're you doing?" Hutch asked, gently patting Starsky's left thigh. He felt Starsky shiver at the contact, his skin surprisingly cool even through the thin fabric of his white pants. Probably no one had even covered him with a blanket in the night. Hutch mentally chastised himself for forgetting that simple kindness.

The little laugh was strained but Starsky's welcoming smile wasn't. "Caught up on all my thinking for about two years."

"Yeah, that must have been a real effort," Hutch joked, but the pain in his chest made it difficult to speak. How could Starsky remain so cheerful lying there, still trussed up in the awful straight jacket, his ankles still tied with the leather belt. "Did you have any breakfast?"

"Old lady Vickerson spoon fed me some oatmeal," Starsky answered, licking his dry lips. "But I could use a drink of water." He managed such dignity despite his ignoble position that Hutch was humiliated for having debauched fantasies of Starsky restrained.

Even so, after helping Starsky drink and recording his heart rate, temperature and respiratory rates, Hutch had a rush of desire again when he unbuckled the lowest strap on the canvas jacket. The brief rendezvous of the night before played over in his mind while Starsky finished his business, like a perfect moment preserved forever on film. He ached to caress that beautiful cock once again, to skim his hands up Starsky's washboard belly to the narrow collar bone, leaving kisses along every inch. He'd bury himself in the warmth of that body, worshiping his unmoving lover.

"Hutch?" Starsky's voice jerked him into the present like a splash of icy water. God, how could he be thinking like that when they were in such danger? It wasn't right, except his gut told him it was. It was just how he wanted it to happen, but it never would.

"Uh--" Hutch wavered, nearly forgetting what he was supposed to do. "How about a stroll in the garden, huh? Get some sun? Still got to wear that stylish jacket, Doctor's orders, but I can take this belt off your ankles."

"I'd like that," Starsky nodded, watching him with a remarkably astute expression on his face. When his legs were freed he wiggled his feet, giggling when Hutch rubbed him heel to toes to restore the circulation. "Hutch, it'll be okay, I promise."

"You promise?" Hutch carefully hauled him to his feet. Starsky looked momentarily disoriented being vertical for the first time in nearly 24 hours and his breathing ragged. Leaning against Hutch's arm for support as he'd done the first night when the lights went out revealed how shaken Starsky was by the whole ordeal and it was all Hutch could do not to pull him into a comforting embrace. His conflicting emotions of tenderness and uncontrollable lust were confusing the heck out of his body. Just this amount of closeness to Starsky gave him a raging hard-on. "You're the one who's about to be sacrificed at the altar."

"S'not going to happen. We'll nail the scumbags who run this place and they'll bring in somebody better," Starsky said with amazing confidence for someone who couldn't even move without help. "It has to be, cause you and me are on the job."

"Starsky, I could have Dobey in here inside of an hour. Get you and Jane out of here..."

"Without all the evidence?"

"There's enough to launch a full scale investigation into their practices."

"Not enough to solve a murder. Not enough to protect Freddie Lyle, an' Bo an' even that creepy guy who keeps watchin' me."

"What creepy guy?" Hutch asked as another influx of adrenaline flushed his bloodstream. The last thing Starsky needed was somebody else threatening him. He seated his partner gently in the wheelchair and started them down the corridor. "What's his name?"

"I dunno. Black hair, kinda good lookin' if you like that kind of thing," Starsky's eyes twinkled, tipping his head back to stare up at Hutch. "I go for blonds myself."

"Behave yourself."

"He reminds me of somebody, but I can't place him." Starsky shrugged. "The whole time me and Freddie Lyle were checking out Switeck's car..."

"That's what you were doing."

"Yeah, Freddie knew Switeck must be still in the building cause his car hadn't moved out of the parking lot. And y'know, I bet if we got a search warrant..."

"The missing vials might be in his car!" Hutch proclaimed with triumph.

"What was I talking about? Those drugs are really messing with my head."

"Did you get more this morning?" Hutch asked seriously. He hadn't noticed Starsky being any dopier than usual.

"Nah, last night. I was almost asleep and bam...another needle in the butt." Starsky squinted at the sun coming in through the wide glass doors leading out to the garden.

"Starsk, the creepy guy?" Hutch urged, more than a little concerned about how easily Starsky lost his train of thought.

"Yeah," Starsky giggled weirdly. He probably was still half on whatever medication they'd injected into him in the dark of night. "Kept watching me and Freddie. All day. Just following us around, like a stalker."

"I think I've seen him." Hutch frowned, remembering the brooding man lurking in the halls occasionally when he was working but he'd never paid much attention to him since he wasn't one of Hutch's assigned patients. "That's just great."

"Well, how's Jane?" Starsky asked more soberly but Hutch could hear the exhaustion in his voice. This was definitely wearing Starsky down and they still had hours to go before midnight. "Is she going to be all right?"

"I dunno," Hutch answered tightly stomach. "She's still in a coma. Some kind of barbiturate poisoning." He kept pushing, taking his charge as far from the main building as possible. "Dammit, Starsk, if I ever find out who did this..."

"I think Jane already did." Starsky turned his cheek to the sun's warmth.

October was showing it's gentle side, with endless blue skies, soft winds that had blown away the usual brown layer of smog and spectacular sunshine just perfect for an afternoon stroll to admire the sway of the palm trees lining the path. Hutch pushed Starsky's wheelchair easily, letting the beauty of nature calm some of his inner demons.

"Are we clear?" Starsky asked after they'd gone a considerable distance from the main hospital.

"Who the hell knows?"

"Pull over, willya? I got an itch on my right leg."

Hutch parked the wheelchair by a towering palm, registering Starsky's closed in posture for the first time. He should have been paying more attention to Starsky's subtle cues but whenever he got close his desire blossomed too easily. Plus, just the sight of the damned straight jacket impeding his partner's movements added to his guilt that he hadn't been able to solve the crimes. He almost wished some sort of retribution for his failures because he'd risked Starsky and Jane's lives for the sake of the investigation. The fact that Starsky wouldn't see it that way wasn't at all reassuring.

Starsky uncrossed his legs allowing Hutch to scratch down the outside of his right thigh. "Where is it?" Hutch asked.

"On the inside," Starsky stressed, raising his eyebrows when Hutch's questing fingers scraped against something tucked inside his pants leg.

"What's this?" Hutch hitched a breath, extracting the papers and just managing to ignore the lust that flared inside him when his fingers brushed the fine guard hairs on Starsky's bare skin. He stood, tapping the sheath of papers against his thigh, not wasting time to look at them.

"Jane dropped those off in Freddie's room last night. He brought 'em to me this morning." Starsky squinted up at Hutch. "Dr Matwick was indicted last year in New York for negligent homicide."

Unable to even look Starsky in the eye anymore, Hutch turned away, trying to compose his thoughts. Why the hell hadn't they uncovered this before they started this cursed investigation?

"It seems he was using mental patients as guinea pigs in his behavioral control experiments." Starsky continued.

Forcing his dread down into a pit he could cover up and ignore, Hutch crouched up against the rough bark of the tree, opening the damning papers with a feeling of deja vu. He'd known the doctor was lying that night in his lab, but just hadn't wanted to go too far down that path because of his fear of what could happen to Starsky. Hutch could feel the other man's eyes on his back but his emotions were too close to the surface to reveal them to his partner. Starsky had insisted they see this thing through; Hutch could only support him with everything he had. Me and thee, like always.

"Two of 'em died," Starsky finished with a humorless grin when Hutch finally glanced over at him.

"And he got off?" Hutch knew the answer, but he had to ask anyway.

"It was a federal program," Starsky gave as much of a shrug as his confined shoulders and arms could make. "It got hushed up."

"Psycho-chemical experiments, huh?" Hutch read from the stolen papers. Starsky grunted an affirmative. "He's probably using that compound he was telling me about." Hutch thought aloud, his legs beginning to cramp from his uncomfortable position. He stood, stuffing the papers into his tunic pocket. "Symptoms would still be the same."

"Y'know those two suicides might've just been a cover-up."

"Yeah, I mean, who'd bother to do an autopsy on a hanging around here?" Hutch almost smiled; it was good to have Starsky back, both of them in the groove, thinking as one.

"Not to mention a coupla psycho-surgeries, to boot," Starsky slumped down more comfortably in the wheelchair, crossing his legs.

Hutch let out an explosive breath, amazed at the magnitude of the doctor's corruption. Physicians were trained to heal--what was that oft repeated phrase? Do no harm? Matwick had perpetrated a lot of harm in his career. "Scares you to think how many minds this man has worked over," he mused, resuming his job of pushing Starsky along the path. "We need more, Starsk, a lot more. We still don't know what happened to Switeck."

Hutch inhaled the wind that still bore the merest hint of salt this far inland. Cabrillo State was situated on a desolate stretch of valley as if no one expected inmates to care where they were incarcerated. The landscaping was half way decent, with palm trees, an underwatered lawn and clumps of hardy oleander providing poisonous white blossoms for decoration, but there was no soul here. No real attempt to give these people beauty and an interest in life. If the patient wasn't depressed before he was dumped into Cabrillo, he certainly would be after only a few days. Even being allowed to leave, Hutch could feel the stifling dreariness of the hospital weighing him down and marveled that Starsky seemed able to maintain his customary bouncy spirit. He admired his friend's relaxed pose, sitting there in the wheelchair, wearing the restrictive straight jacket with casual elan of a prince from a small potentate out on a Sunday stroll without a care in the world. It was only an act, Hutch knew, but it was a damned good one.

"If we don't get any more back up information these--these files aren't gonna hold up in court," Hutch worried.

"Well, looks like we're just going to have to get into Matwick's files," Starsky said gloomily.

"Well, it's gotta be soon. He's got you on his operating schedule for tonight."

"Swell, I can hardly wait." Starsky swiveled his neck causing a loud crack as cramped muscles and tendons shifted. Hunching his shoulders up and down several times he wiggled his arms inside the straight jacket, squirming around so much Hutch was certain he'd fall right out of the wheelchair and break his neck.

"Starsk, would you settle down?"

"I could get out of this thing," Starsky remarked straining the canvas by shoving his shoulders as far forward as they would go.

"How?"

"You want files from Matwick's office?" Starsky countered, sounding like he had a plan and it wasn't something Hutch really wanted to hear.

"We already went over that--yes, but what does that have to do with you getting out of the straight jacket?" As much as Hutch would have liked to liberate his partner, he couldn't go against direct orders and keep his undercover role at the same time. He bumped the wheelchair over the edge of the ramp leading up to the patient's entrance. Starsky straight legged the glass door, pushing hard with his feet to help the wheelchair pass inside, leaving Hutch the task of maneuvering the wheels over the jamb and shoving the door closed with his hip.

"Houdini," Starsky answered mysteriously.

"You may be able to pull a scarf out of a straw boater but a master magician you aren't," Hutch observed wryly, pressing the elevator button.

"I've watched every movie and documentary ever made on the guy," Starsky assured. "There was one last Halloween--the actor playing Houdini looked really familiar, kinda like Paul Muni..."

"I saw that one, with that cute blond actress from 'All in the family'," Hutch got caught up in Starsky's story in spite of himself. "If I recall, he died in the water tank, wearing a straight jacket."

"Hutch, I can wiggle out of a this thing. I usta practice all the time when I was a kid--got one of my dad's old sweat shirts and tied the arms together in the back."

"Starsky, that was twenty years ago!"

"I can do this," he proclaimed recklessly, Starsky's natural streak of defiance rising to the surface. "I've got it all figured out. Just gotta slip your shoulders outta socket... Then I can break into Matwick's office and if I'm caught, nobody gets inta trouble, cause I did it on my own."

"I don't like it, it's too risky."

"You never like any of my ideas, but most of 'em work out, don't they?" Starsky swiveled around in the wheelchair to look up at Hutch, sincerity written all over his face. Hutch didn't want to fall for another of Starsky's cons, look where his idea to infiltrate Cabrillo had gotten them. But he could rarely refuse Starsky anything.

"I wouldn't say most of 'em," Hutch said sourly, coming to a stop in front of Starsky's assigned room.

"C'mon," Starsky wheedled. He climbed out of the chair awkwardly once Hutch set the brake, bouncing on the balls of his feet with excitement.

"Starsky, it's dangerous."

"You're repeating yourself," Starsky was standing so close to him Hutch could feel his breath on his cheek. "You don't think I worry about you running around the halls of this crazy place without backup? I feel like a heel cause I can't give you any kind of help here. I haven't held my own weight in this investigation, Hutch. Give me this one."

"You can be very persuasive when you want to be," Hutch bent his head forward. Their lips were millimeters apart but neither let themselves be seduced by the moment. "What'd you want me to do?"

"Unbuckle the back strap like you did before, I gotta pee," Starsky didn't move, his indigo eyes tipped up towards Hutch's, his breathing coming in short ragged hitches and not because he had a full bladder.

"Romantic bastard," Hutch teased, the charged arousal gone as if it had never been. He reached around Starsky's waist, unbuckling the strap one handed. "I want to see the trick."

"Yeah?" Starsky asked like a delighted kid. He stepped back, giving a little bow. Wiggling inside the canvas casing, his body seemed to collapse inward on itself and then suddenly the sleeves were limp and empty. "Voila!" Starsky crowed, the fingers of one hand just visible from under the bottom edge of the straight jacket.

"Okay, that is pretty good," Hutch whistled through his teeth.

"Now get outta here, I don' want Nurse Ratchet to find you," Starsky still struggled to free himself from the garment. "Wouldn't want to compromise your integrity."

Chuckling Hutch shook his head; "You did that a long time ago, Houdini." He opened the door just wide enough to check the corridor then looked back at his writhing partner. "Be careful, Starsk."

"Just as soon as I get..."

Closing the door behind him, Hutch winced when he heard the unmistakable sounds of Starsky toppling over.

It was harder than he thought to maintain a professional attitude when he knew Starsky was roaming the halls unassisted and Jane lay deathly still in her barbiturate haze. Bycroft seemed determined to drive him to quit with her unending list of tasks and Hutch didn't think he'd ever find a way to get out from under her thumb. His unfinished pile of nursing notes provided a valid excuse to beg off giving the catatonic Mrs. Perou another bed bath this late in the shift. Grabbing his neglected lunch from his locker Hutch hunkered down in the staff lounge, finishing up his paperwork.

"Hansen?" Matwick had come up behind him so suddenly Hutch startled, dropping the remains of his tuna fish on white with mayo onto the notes. The greasy condiment immediately left a spreading stain all over Mrs. Parou's lab results.

"Doctor?" Hutch stuffed a last bite into his mouth, standing to acknowledge his superior.

"Working rather late tonight, aren't you?" Matwick looked pointedly at his watch; his heavy glasses reflected the overhead light creating weird refractions that made him appear even more sinister than usual.

"Well, I was just-uh-finishing up some reports," Hutch stammered. Where was Starsky right at this moment? Had he gotten into the doctor's inner sanctum and stolen the papers? How long should Hutch stall?

"That's all right, Hansen, you may sign out now."

"Oh," Hutch hesitated, hoping for some sudden distraction to take Matwick's attention away from him. He'd really wanted to stay long enough to find out if Starsky was successful in stealing the papers. "Thank you," he gave a grin and a shrug. Walking over to the rack of timecards he punched out, signing his name on the duty roster with a shaky hand.

Returning to the table Hutch gathered up the remains of his meal, offering the triangle of tuna on white bread to the lurking doctor, but Matwick declined.

"Save it for tomorrow," Hutch said aloud, taking a big bite out of his half-eaten apple. It had the tangy, sweet-sour flavor that he enjoyed in a Fuji and he ate three more bites in quick succession, walking down the hall towards the locker room. Feeling the heavy weight of Matwick's stare between his shoulder blades Hutch turned back to see the man standing outside the staff lounge just watching him.

"Night, Doctor!" he waved cheerily, creeped out by the man's oppressive presence. In fact, the doctor's glare was having a weird effect on him, his legs seemed to suddenly have a mind of their own and he faltered, nearly taking a header into the doorframe. Clutching the wall, Hutch straightened, removing his glasses. Those damned fake lenses were screwing up his vision, the gun metal gray lockers seemed to waver and pitch as if there was an earthquake in progress. A nameless fear took hold, raking his intestines with razor sharp claws. He had to get away, now! Taking an unsteady step he managed to sidestep a low bench but plowed into the bank of small lockers under the window.

What the heck was going on? Getting his wayward body under a modicum of control he hauled himself up, fumbling for his locker. The whole room was swaying back and forth like a ship in a hurricane and he could barely hang on to the steel door. The rough edges of the metal abraded his fingers like harsh sand paper and he stared in astonishment at a newspaper clipping that had been scotch taped to the back of the locker. For a brief second his sight cleared enough to read the bold headline 'Charlie Deek held in Murder Probe' but he couldn't quite make out the smaller print underneath.

Charlie Deek? Hutch tried to recollect the name but in his fragmented state he couldn't recall the arrest. Was Charlie Deek here? The hairs on the back of his neck prickled and he swung around in time to see Deek banishing a machete, leering like the boogy man out of one of Starsky's horror movies. It almost appeared as if he had no body, just a phantom head floating in the maelstrom of Hutch's worst fears.

_Damn!_

With a swiftness that terrified him the whole world transformed into some kind of bizarre nightmare that had no sensible explanation. What the hell had happened? Clinging to a small shred of rational thought, Hutch realized that Matwick must have dosed him with some hallucinogen but the knowledge did little good with a homicidal maniac coming after him with a sword.

Kicking out with frantic strength, he ran blindly, crashing into the wall in the corridor. Despite the drugs invading his system, Hutch was in top physical condition and Deek had spent the last year in a mental institution. This gave Hutch a distinct advantage and he managed to outrun his pursuer with desperate speed, his heart bursting out of his chest with fear. Plunging headlong down the hall, Hutch couldn't avoid bumping into carelessly strewn equipment. His knees blazed with pain as he fell but Deek's eerie laughter taunted him as he scrambled to his feet to race onward.

Spying the door to the staff only wing Hutch recognized it as a possible means of escape and smashed his elbow through the frosted pane. Ignoring the glass shards showering over his arm he reached though the ruined window to open the door from the inside. Deek was too close behind to linger long and Hutch raced off with rapidly waning coordination.

Collapsing against a locked door, Hutch panted raggedly, gathering up a final burst of speed. He could barely see any more; walls, floors and furniture telescoping and expanding like characters from Alice's adventure through the looking glass. For one second he thought he glimpsed Starsky strapped face down on a gurney but wasn't even sure he was able to distinguish illusion from reality any more. Hadn't he dreamed about Starsky restrained and vulnerable? This was just one of his sick fantasies taking over again. He couldn't let himself dwell on that anymore, not with Deek close on his heels.

Even the faint sound of a voice yelling 'Hutch!' didn't stop Hutch's panicked flight down the hall to the stairwell. Swinging open the door to the stairs he launched himself upstairs, lurching with wildly exaggerated movements. Charles Deek was so close Hutch could hear his harsh breathing behind him.

There was nowhere left to go, so with a desperate last attempt to escape the slashing knife Hutch grabbed hold of the wire cage enclosing the staircase. Deek's sweaty hands grabbed the back of Hutch's tunic, jerking him off the cage. Falling backward Hutch felt the sharp riser cut into his back when he hit the stairs and threw up his hands in a meager defense. Deek smiled ferally, hacking at his struggling prisoner with the glinting blade of his knife. Hutch was past cohesive examination of his status and fought with primitive fury.

The suddenness with which Deek was swept away left Hutch gasping for breath. He blearily watched Starsky brawling with the insane criminal, knowing he should be getting up to help his partner but unable to coordinate his limbs to even come to a stand. Starsky's blue and red colors flowed and swirled in and out of Deek's white like a watercolor painting left out in the rain and Hutch gave up trying to make out who was on top of whom.

Growling like a madman himself Starsky pitched the knife down the stairs, slugging Deek hard enough to knock him out. Hutch couldn't quite follow the blurred action but he was pretty sure the good guys had won again and slumped bonelessly against the wall trying to quell his nausea.

"Hutch, you okay? Huh?" Starsky's voice had changed to a gentle, if frantic, croon. Hutch let himself be hauled upward and tried to focus on his friend's concerned face but Starsky's eyes seemed to dance up and down like dark blue butterflies and it was disconcerting as hell. "You okay...?"

"I can't..." Hutch muttered. He wanted to say they had to get away now, he'd been drugged, they needed to call in Dobey and the cavalry, rescue Jane and then torch the whole demented hospital but the words didn't even form in his mouth.

Starsky slapped Hutch lightly, swearing under his breath. He was panting so heavily Hutch was distracted by the way his red neckerchief fluttered every time be took a breath. He didn't mind the feel of Starsky's hand on his cheek, in fact he savored it; wanting Starsky to keep holding him so closely that their bodies touched, their groins grinding against one another in a rugged embrace. Instead Starsky lugged him to his feet roughly half-dragging Hutch up the stairs and nearly dropping him onto the linoleum in the corridor. Hutch started to protest; he was three inches taller and God only knows how much heavier than Starsky, but he just clung on to Starsky's blue chambray shirt without speaking, praying for this nightmare to be over. What was it he needed to tell Starsky, anyway? Something to do with the case? The doctor...?

Starsky had propped Hutch against the wall, clutching his white tunic with a clenched fist, still trying to get Hutch to focus on his face. "Hutch?" he asked, administering another gentle slap. "C'mon."

Not possessing sufficient strength to remain standing Hutch slid limply down the wall. "Matwick," he managed to say.

"It's okay," Starsky soothed, smoothing Hutch's mussed hair, obviously not understanding the severity of their situation.

Hutch batted Starsky's hands away, "Matwick!" he cried but couldn't get the rest of the warning out.

"Okay, okay, but first I gotta take care of this guy." He peered into Hutch's eyes, filling Hutch up with his strength of will. After all, Starsky had persevered despite the drugs and restraints and Hutch had to shore up his crumbling resolve and fight back, too. There could be no other outcome.

Reaching out Hutch realized Starsky had left him alone while he secured Deek. Luckily there was no shortage of restraints around the place and Hutch hoped Starsky trussed the crazy man up with enough handcuffs and locks to keep him off the streets for the rest of his unnatural days. But they weren't out of the frying pan yet by a long shot. His wits were still scattered but Hutch knew that Matwick must have realized Starsky had escaped by now and would come looking for him. He really had seen Starsky strapped down to a gurney so how had he gotten away?

The next few minutes were a blur of color and action. Whenever Hutch looked anywhere near a light source iridescent halos sparkled in his vision but he managed to hold his own long enough to shove a nearby linen cart into the path of the marauding doctor. Unfortunately Starsky was so close behind he ran full tilt into the man, arms and legs flailing. There was a brief scuffle but Starsky emerged victorious, wielding the gun now with grim efficiency.

"Right there!" Starsky growled keeping Matwick on the ground.

His mighty shove having propelled him against the opposite wall, Hutch sagged, drained of energy. He felt completely detached from the action unable to process what had just occurred. Why had Deek come after him with a knife? How the hell had he gotten one in the first place? Was it possible that he'd been in cahoots with Matwick? If so how many others in this demented asylum were corrupt? Scared at the implications and only just now registering how close he'd come to being filleted like a prime piece of sole Hutch reached out for his partner, needing Starsky's nearness to orient him to reality.

Starsky pulled Hutch into a quick hug, still holding Matwick at bay with a cocked trigger finger. Hutch leaned into his friend's bony shoulder sighing with relief. They had made it again; cheated death. It didn't really give Hutch much satisfaction that he had been right that this case would turn sour on them, that they had actually survived the murder ward had been a near thing. He wanted to be joyous but his addled brain couldn't take much more input at this particular time. He just wanted to pass out.

Smiling weakly at his curly haired compatriot, Hutch muttered, "I didn't think you could handle it all by yourself."

"Oh, boy," Starsky rolled his eyes.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Nurse Bycroft, revealing a whole new side to her personality since releasing Starsky, had called the cops. Because Hutch had insisted on more frequent patrols by the local black and whites, uniforms flooded the hospital within minutes creating an uncontrolled chaos as patients woke in the middle of the night to lights, voices and the arrests of several members of the medical staff. It took the combined efforts of police and psychiatric trained nurses and doctors culled from surrounding hospitals to stem the high stress panic mode that spread pervasively through the ward.

Hutch slept through a large portion of the night's activities, waking to find himself lying on a gurney in a white walled room. Panic surged through him with suffocating force; Matwick had captured him and was about to use the belladonna derivative to give him a chemical lobotomy. Lurching up Hutch nearly took a header off the narrow table but a firm hand held him in place.

"You're safe," Starsky said.

"Where are we?"

"Memorial," Starsky snorted derisively. "You think I'd let those quacks at Cabrillo get their hands on my buddy? No way,"

His heart pounding like the drum beat on a Rolling Stones album, Hutch let himself be pushed gently back against the pillow. "Are you okay? Matwick didn't hurt you?"

"You're the only one who took anything this time, bucko," Starsky pointed to a clipboard on the table nearby. "Can't pronounce all the syllables but it boils down to you're on a Woodstock kind of trip and will come down in a couple hours."

"Damn," Hutch rubbed his eyes but that only accentuated the rainbow prisms arcing off the overhead lights. "I thought I dreamed seeing you tied down on an exam table."

"You didn't dream that one, but Bycroft got herself a gold star for good behavior." Starsky recounted the parts of the story Hutch hadn't been privy to, ending with good news about Jane Hutton. "We'd only been at Memorial an hour or two when Jane started coming around. She's alert and talkin' already, which is more than I can say about you." He chuckled.

Hutch had let himself drift off with Starsky's familiar voice droning on but the teasing tone brought him back into focus. "I'm okay..."

"I know you're okay, but you're high," Starsky leaned down until his face filled Hutch's field of vision. "How many of me do you see?"

"You mean you're not twins?" Hutch teased but had to close his eyes to stop the disturbing way Starsky's hair seemed to wiggle and writhe like a nest of baby snakes.

"You wish," Starsky sneaked a gentle kiss, grinning against Hutch's lips when Hutch responded enthusiastically. "Would that make this a menage a trois?"

"Speaking French, 'Tish?" Hutch licked Starsky's lower lip, his libido on fire. His erection had gone from zero to sixty in a matter of seconds and it was all he could do not to pull Starsky into a clench and suck his tonsils out. Well, it would have been except for the matter of getting his body parts to coordinate in any way whatsoever. His cock seemed to have a mind of its own but his arms and legs lay like limb noodles, heedless to his entreaties.

"If you think I look like Morticia Addams, you're worse off than I thought," Starsky caressed Hutch's cheek with the flat of his thumb but moved out of kissing range. It took Hutch a few seconds to process why but when the bulky figure of an ER doctor blocked Starsky from his sight he recognized the wisdom of the move. Detective partners, especially male ones, were not supposed to be boffing each other on their off time. And kissing in Memorial Hospital's ER was right up there on the list of no-no's. Probably just under imagining your partner cuffed naked to a bed ready to be ravaged. No matter how hard he tried Hutch found himself dwelling on the memories of the last few days--Starsky in handcuffs, Starsky immobilized with just his incredible eyes glowing like semi-precious jewels, Starsky strapped face down on a gurney screaming; only in his fantasy Starsky was screaming in ecstasy not terror.

He was sick, immoral and weak, allowing the desires of his flesh to control his rational mind. Although it could be said that he was in no way in a rational state right now and these kind of images could be explained away as hallucinations--vulgar, smutty hallucinations. Once he was rid of the drug and away from Cabrillo, these nasty thoughts would fade away as if they had never been and Hutch would be more than happy to cast them out like rotten fruit.

Letting the doctor take another set of vitals and a few liters of blood, Hutch dozed, secure in the knowledge that Starsky was nearby and would never know about his lascivious ruminations. From now on their coupling would be of the mundane variety, hidden from prying eyes but cherished by the both of them.

++++++++++++++++

Policy and procedures ruled the days following the arrests at Cabrillo. State medical officials swooped in to take control of the facility and thorough investigations of all aspects of the care there was recommended. Hutch recovered swiftly from his unexpected hallucinogenic interlude and went back to work determined to bring Dr. Matwick up on every charge he could scour out of the California penal code. Nurse Bycroft proved an invaluable asset to the case since she had actually attended some of the illegal experimentations on patients although she had no prior knowledge of how Switeck was killed. In exchange for immunity, and after a good word from Starsky, she expounded on every sort of crime Matwick had perpetrated. Jane Hutton also recovered completely, to the relief of Hutch who still harbored self-recriminations for encouraging her to pilfer through Matwick's papers in the first place. By the end of a solid week of paper work and frequent meetings with dozens of agencies and lawyers involved in the case both Starsky and Hutch were more than ready for a few days respite. With that in mind they stocked up on groceries, unplugged Hutch's phone and planned to hibernate until Monday morning.

"Got any plans in that blond head of yours?" Starsky licked the ranch dressing off the carrot stick he was mouthing in a most obscene way.

"Only watching you eat that carrot," Hutch grinned lazily, offering him another.

"I was thinking of eatin' something a little less nutritious," Starsky stroked the soft fibers of Hutch's brushed cotton jeans down to the groin with a raunchy expression. He unthreaded the thick leather belt from the buckle, then unzipped the fly and reached inside like an archeologist uncovering a fascinating relic in the ground. "I've discovered a craving for organ meat."

"Far be it from me to try to turn you into a vegetarian," Hutch gasped when Starsky sucked him into his hot mouth. Savoring the sensations of tongue and lips on his cock, Hutch let his head drop onto the back of the couch, his breath coming in hitches every time Starsky took a little more of Hutch's length. It was like swimming in the warm Adriatic or being wrapped in a heated duvet. His whole focus was reduced to his cock, a fraction of his body mass, but probably the best portion there of.

Starsky was a master at giving head and he applied every ounce of his expertise into giving Hutch the blowjob of his life. When it was over Hutch twined his fingers through his lover's hair, bending down to kiss cum off his lips. Bliss suffused his body. This was the first love making they had done since before he'd gone undercover at Cabrillo and he'd begun to fear that maybe his sadomasochistic reveries would get in the way of normal desire. His orgasm had been one for the record books however, simply proving that he didn't need bondage to become aroused. The fantasies had not diminished though and he'd dreamed about Starsky at Cabrillo several nights in a row. Hopefully, with time those would fall by the way side and he'd enjoy the simpler pleasures of admiring how nicely Starsky filled out a pair of tight blue jeans.

"Thank you," Hutch played with Starsky's unruly curls twisting locks into the devilish horns he'd worn at the hospital. "For letting me go first."

"That wasn't letting you," Starsky jumped to his feet, dancing backwards like a woodland sprite. "That was taking my pleasure. I don't like to wait, or haven't you noticed?"

"I've noticed," Hutch couldn't help but laugh at his friend's spirited dance. Starsky was dressed in a t-shirt and very short denim cut-offs. Every time he bounced and jerked in time to the rock and roll tune he was singing the shirt flipped up reveling a few inches of hairy abdomen. Hutch itched to get his hands on that lucious skin; explore it with his tongue, caress every inch with the tips of his fingers. Recognizing the song as 'Jumpin' Jack Flash' he joined in when Starsky grabbed his hand to pull him off the couch.

"C'mon, let's get comfortable," Starsky urged. "Have a party." He danced into the bedroom, bobbing his head in time to the beat. "Ya know, we should do somethin' for the guys out at Cabrillo. It ain't their fault all this went down and I kinda like some of 'em."

"What did you have in mind?" Hutch ducked into the bathroom to fetch a washrag before following his favorite go-go dancer. By the end of the dance Starsky had shed his t-shirt, twirling it in a fairly good imitation of a stripper.

"A party. With balloons and a cake and everything!" Starsky crowed. "It'd be great. Somebody there must have a birthday comin' up soon and they need something to liven up their lives...God..." His whole attitude sobered, his face reflecting immense sadness. "Hutch, I can't believe how those guys stay there year after year...y'know Freddie Lyle's been there for three years? What if I'd..." he dropped heavily onto the bed with a shudder.

"Starsky, you may be a little wacko at times," Hutch answered fondly. "But you can distinguish reality from fantasy which most of them have lost the ability to do."

"But they don't deserve to be locked up like that," Starsky retorted sharply.

"I'm not saying they do. We definitely need changes made in the way psyche units are run--and a lot more dedicated nurses and doctors to help the patients recover from their illnesses."

"You woulda made a good doctor," Starsky complimented sweetly.

"Not a good nurse?"

"Whichever..." Starsky flopped back on the bed, coming up on one elbow to lie on his side. "I was kinda stoned a lot of the time but I got the feeling you were dealin' with something heavy."

"Starsky, working there was demanding and depressing and--uh--," Hutch scrambled for what to say, avoiding Starsky's gaze. He should have known he couldn't fool him, Starsky was far too astute. So how much did he know? Had he guessed the truth or was he just probing for facts? There was no way Hutch could confess to the lewd dreams he'd been having about his partner, even if they were lovers. "I was constantly worried about you."

"Didn't need to be. How much coulda happened when I was asleep all the time? You were the one doing all the hard work. Havin' to take care of me and Jane."

Evading the subject Hutch slipped his belt out of the belt loops, dropped his unzipped pants to the floor and kicked them to one side. After adding his boxers to the heap he used the washrag to clean off the remains of the evening's entertainment and tossed the terry cloth square on the growing laundry pile. "You gonna get undressed anytime soon?" He asked, unbuttoning his vintage thirties style shirt.

"Sooner or later, after the show," Starsky made a 'continue' gesture when Hutch stopped before removing his shirt completely. "Y'know I've been havin' some kinky dreams lately."

In the process of sliding the shirt off his shoulder, Hutch froze, his heart almost jumping out of his mouth. "Yeah?"

"Hutch," Starsky lounged back on the piled pillows, reaching up to grab the slats on the head board, his eyes hooded and mysterious. "That night at Cabrillo--why didn't you finish what you started?"

"What?" Hutch asked, but he knew exactly what Starsky was referring to. The aborted hand job. His shameful, perverted fantasy.

"When I was all tied up..." Starsky arched his groin up, hands still clamped tightly around the dowels as if he were restrained that way. Hutch stared fixated at the exact outline of Starsky's erection straining the faded denim of his shorts. It was so tempting to reach out and cup his hand around that perfect package.

"You didn't bring me off."

"It wasn't safe." Hutch was barely breathing, his own cock awakening with an interest in the proceedings. He kept his focus on the taut lines of Starsky's body, needing to fondle that hot cock, take bites out of that flat abdomen and plunge himself into the hidden opening in the back.

"It is now. I'm claiming my raincheck." Starsky licked his lower lip. "Tie me up, Hutch."

"I..." Hutch stammered, moving as if in a trance. He picked his belt up off the floor letting the smooth length of leather glide through his fingers. Like a predator zoning in on its prey, he stalked over to the bed, reaching out to wrap his hand around Starsky's left wrist. He'd always known his hands were the bigger than Starsky's, but his fingers easily overlapped around his partner's slender joint. Tightening his grip he slowly, ever so carefully, wrapped the thick belt around one wrist and then joined it to the second one. Starsky's indigo eyes stared up at him, the pupils so dilated they were nothing but black voids surrounded by narrow strips of blue. Hutch hitched a breath, taking in the sight of his lover tied to the bed. He looked astonishingly beautiful but something wasn't right, this wasn't the fantasy. Hutch concentrated for a moment, thinking past the lust that clouded his brain. "Try to move your arms." Hutch broke the heavy silence, decreasing some of the sexual tension that electrified the air.

Twisting his hands, Starsky was able to turn his wrists so that the thick belt slipped over one hand. Without much effort, he could have slid one hand out the enlarged loop. "Please, Hutch..." Starsky began, desire written in the lines of his body and the stiffness of his cock.

"Don't move, if you do I'll have to hurt you," Hutch stabbed a finger at him before throwing open the closet door. Where had the threat come from? He was turning into someone he hardly knew, a dark force intent on--what? Violence? Sex? The need inside him was so great he could barely contain himself. He'd heard the small gasp from Starsky when he'd uttered the cruel words, but turned his back anyway, diving into a tumble of forgotten boxes, looking for something he couldn't even consciously explain. He'd know it when he found it.

At the bottom of a box of abandoned crafts he found the exact right thing. So long ago his girlfriend Abby had proposed making macramé plant hangers for Christmas gifts. They'd sat, thighs pressed together, knotting and twisting the slender black leather thongs into intricate designs, their body heat rising until he'd taken her right on top of the first finished product. None of the rest of them was ever completed and after their breakup he'd lost interest in the project. Until now. Holding up the long black strips, his cock jumped in response. The belt was too thick, too unwieldy for what he wanted. These would serve the purpose nicely.

"What'd you find?" Starsky asked, hands still joined to the slats above his head.

"Just wait," Hutch promised. He straddled Starsky's long body, resting on his knees to reach above his lover's head to unbuckle the belt. Keeping one hand firmly pressed against Starsky's Hutch tossed the unneeded belt to one side. Starsky looked confused, but didn't move when Hutch looped one of the black strips around his bicep and knotted it on the underside of his arm. He did the same to the right arm, then began to wind the sleek leather bands up both arms to the elbow. Below him, Starsky gave a tiny gasp as his arms were drawn together when Hutch joined the thongs into one twisted strand, wrapping them twice around the flexible joint. As the leather grew tighter with each circuit Starsky's cock responded by rising up to press against Hutch's buttocks.

Continuing his macramé, Hutch crossed the two lengths of leather, making a figure eight, then began winding them together around both of Starsky's forearms, creating a line of diamond shapes up to the wrist where he finished off by knotting the whole thing to the bedhead.

"S'tight," Starsky whispered hoarsely.

"I know, baby, s'meant to be." Hutch smiled, pleased with his creation. This was what he'd imagined, the black leather gleaming in stark contrast to the lighter color of Starsky's skin. No canvas jacket to block the sensuous feeling of skin on skin. He ran his palm down the plane of Starsky's cheek; his lover turning towards his touch like a rooting infant. Inserting his thumb into Starsky's unresisting mouth, he nearly came when Starsky began to suck, rhythmically rocking his pelvis in time. The feel of Starsky's jeans clad erection against his naked buttocks was overwhelming and he couldn't resist the seduction of southern regions any longer.

God, how he wanted Starsky. Wanted to take him in ways never previously imagined. The wild violence swelled up inside him again, swamping his willpower and it was all he could do not to yank down those ragged, sexy cut-offs and ravage Starsky's tiny hole without further ado.

"Please, Hutch," Starsky repeated, pleading and needy. He arched upwards, his body bowing because of the bindings that secured his hands above and Hutch's weight from below. The supplication startled Hutch out of his reverie, leaving him trembling from the onslaught. He was afraid of going too far, hurting Starsky in more than just physical ways. This was so far from the realm of their earlier lovemaking as the Earth was from the sun. He wanted to bite and pinch, shove and cause pain, but the mere thought of it was frightening.

"You can, Hutch," Starsky encouraged, his face wild and feral. The air was thick with sexual heat, Hutch's strange mood apparently contagious. "Take off my shorts, push my legs apart, shove that beautiful, big rod in fast. You've done it before."

At Starsky's direction, he unbuttoned the button on the waist band, then jerked the shorts down to his ankles, leaving them still hooked around Starsky's left foot. The suddenly freed cock bound upwards, thick and already leaking with pre-cum. Just the sight of it make Hutch salivate, but first things first. He clamped his hand around Starsky's erection, bringing a gurgled sob from his victim, to slow the rate of Starsky's arousal.

There was no logic here, just pure rutting instinct, but it felt right. And Starsky wasn't putting up any resistance, in fact he was encouraging the ravishing by tenting his knees to provide access to that warm haven in his ass.

Taking only a few precious moments to lubricate himself Hutch clutched at the fleshiness of Starsky's buttocks, centering in on that tiny aperture, almost reverting to primitive behavior. His mind screamed 'Take, force, conquer ,' but he couldn't lose his decency that easily. Just one look at Starsky's face, his eyes unfocused with need, arms suspended above his head, soothed Hutch enough to slow down and take control of his raging lust. He'd been allowed his fantasy--given the gift of Starsky tied up and vulnerable to him. He couldn't take advantage of that trust by wantonly forcing his way in and possibly injuring his best friend. This had to be good for both of them or it was too close to rape for his comfort.

Touching his erection to Starsky's entrance, he pushed, taking the first few centimeters as slowly as possible. The pressure was incredible, especially when Starsky gave a wordless cry, gripping the bed slats with both hands. Despite the exertion, Hutch froze, just as imprisoned as Starsky was, both of them unable to pull away.

"Starsk?"

"Please, Hutch." Starsky hadn't said much more than those two words since they'd began. But they had gained so much meaning; supplication, prayer, thankfulness and encouragement. "Please, Hutch, finish me before I explode," he whispered as his body trembled with shock and need.

"I'm hurting you."

"Not as much as I'll hurt you if you stop!" Starsky screamed with pleasure when Hutch forcibly thrust home, jamming in farther than he'd ever gone before. Howling, Starsky bucked, nearly toppling Hutch from his perch.

This was it, this was paradise. Hutch rode the wild, gyrating broncho like a seasoned rodeo rider. His intention wasn't to break his lover, instead it was to meld with him until they were one part of a whole, transcending simple biology to become the other half to each other.

Feeling his passion mounting Hutch leaned forward to blanket Starsky's hot, sweat slicked body. One hard nipple poked up from the tangle of chest hair surrounding it and he grasped it with his teeth, biting down as the orgasm hit full bore. Giving one last tremendous push, Hutch sensed Starsky's climax peaking with his own. Like a flashback to his hallucinations, colors mixed and swirled, the musky odor of their coupling merging with the taste of blood in his mouth and the erotic sound of Starsky's passion all blending together in one delicious sensory burst.

"You bit me," Starsky proclaimed in surprise.

"I got hungry for some organ meat myself," Hutch kissed the tiny wound he'd made, wiping away the drop of blood with his thumb. "Does it hurt?"

"A little. Doesn't matter," Starsky was languid in post coital bliss, his eyes half lidded. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"What?" Hutch sat up slowly, stretching, then began to worry at the knot keeping Starsky's hands bound together.

"This--all of it. You musta watched some kinky movies when I wasn't around," Starsky laughed, wiggling his fingers to restore the circulation when Hutch started to unwind the leather strips. "Cause I gotta say, it was terrific. Better than terrific--colossal. The judges are gonna award you ten outta ten."

"You liked it?" Hutch stopped, reaching up to catch Starsky's partially freed hand and weave their fingers together. "It wasn't--didn't remind you of Cabrillo?"

"Hutch," Starsky had enough arm movement to push Hutch's head down until their lips met. "It felt like I was your birthday present and I could give you every thing you ever wished for." He kissed Hutch reverently, lingering in the aftermath of the love. "Cabrillo was cruelty and evilness. You never came close, you never could."

"What about you? Did you get everything you wanted?"

"I got you," Starsky grinned impishly. "And if you'd hurry up and untie me, I can thank you properly."

"Starsky, you never did anything properly in your whole life," Hutch scoffed, sliding the loops of leather off his arms. Coiling the long black thongs in his hand Hutch reflected on their duality of purpose--that anything could be seen from both sides. He'd been afraid of the bondage because it seemed oppressive and deviant. Starsky saw it as erotic and a giving of himself. Two sides of the same coin, just like always. And it hadn't cleaved them in two, instead, it had pulled them closer together.

"You gotta go with your gut, Hutchinson," Starsky teased, grabbing one end of the leather band. "Not with your head all the time. Like me." He slipped his hand through the still knotted loop and then captured Hutch's wrist with a few quick rotations of the thong.

"What are you doing?"

"Practicing my macramé," Starsky said, all innocence, as he linked their arms. "Wanna give me a hand? A few pointers on the proper way to tie a knot and which end goes under and which goes through? You were a sailor scout, weren't you?"

"I just hope they have a badge for this category," Hutch laughed aloud, discovering a whole new hobby.

FIN


End file.
